


Petey’s Plan to Get into Wade’s Pants

by EZChase



Series: The Marvelous Misadventures of Petey-pie and Wade [3]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: (actually yes he should always), Almost mentions of Team Red, Author thinks they're funny, Boys Kissing, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Daddy Kink, Dates, Dates gone wrong, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Peter and Wade, F/F, Felicia is a Good Bro, Fluff, Gratuitous Cussing, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, MJ is a Good Bro, Ned Is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parker Luck, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter and Wade become cat Dads, Peter dances on a stripper pole, Peter don't tolerate disrespect towards his daddy, Peter is a BAMF, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter is possessive AF, Peter should never make bets, Relationship Talk, Service Top, Service Top Wade Wilson, Steve Rogers is kind of a condescending dick, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Topping from the bottom Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Loves Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade is sensitive about his scars, Wade kinda loves it though, Wade loves it, Weasel is kind of an ass tho, Weasel is unknowingly a good bro, Well this took a serious tone, but he shows it in the wrong ways, it is very cute, like blink and you'll miss it, these boys are idiots, they adopt a pet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EZChase/pseuds/EZChase
Summary: Peter finally realizes his feelings for Wade, but, instead of flat out telling Wade he wants them to date, he comes up with a half-baked plan to show Wade he’s interested. The only problem is, Wade either doesn’t get the memo or is too self-conscious to think Peter actually means it. Hijinks ensue as Peter’s plan gets increasingly sillier until it all finally comes to a head.





	1. Step One: Use the Daddy Kink

A text notification went off.

The incoming text alert was set to the sound of a bottle cap that had been popped off a glass drink, and it was this sound (being made several times) that pulled Peter from a deep sleep.

He groaned when he rolled over to grab his phone off the nightstand where it sat when it was charging. The movement pulled at the black and blue bruises (well, by now they’d healed to yellow and green—thank Oscorp for his healing factor) that littered his hands, stomach, chest, and splotched the outside of his right hip, thigh, and calf. He’d had a run-in with Doc Ock and, while he’d beaten the man, his body didn’t feel like it’d won. So, it made sense that he did not want to be awake. Especially not at—he looked at the time—three-thirty in the Goddamned morning.

He read the line of text that scrolled across the top of his phone’s screen.

 _13 new texts from_ **Red**.

He opened his cell with an annoyed sigh.

****

**_Received. 2:30 am_ **

_DYK cheetahs can’t roar?_

**_Received. 2:31 am_ **

_they just sit there and meow_

**_Received. 2:31 am_ **

_like overly large n domestic house cats_

**_Received. 2:32 am_ **

_u want a cheetah BB?_

**_Received. 2:50 am_ **

_NVM. Cheetah exploded._

**_Received. 2:50 am_ **

_(:( :( :( :( :( :( :(_

**_Received. 2:52 am_ **

_Look @ da emojis. R they frowns or r they_

_demented smiles? :D_

**_Received. 3:00 am_ **

_It was a killer cheetah tho._

_I don’t feel bad._

**_Received. 3:01 am_ **

_u wanna keep the pelt?_

 

**_Received. 3:03 am_ **

_mayB I’ll give it to Kraven the next time_

_him and Spidey fight_

**_Received. 3:05 am_ **

_Betcha it’ll sell for a pretty penny on da_

_black market._

****

**_Received. 3:15 am_ **

_u wouldn’t Blieve how fast it sold_

****

**_Received. 3:21 am_ **

_OMWH BB! <3_

Peter squinted at the last message, which had been sent nearly ten minutes ago.

Wade usually didn’t tell Peter when he would be back unless he was going to make a mess, and Peter would rather get up at ungodly hours of the morning to patch his best friend up than deal with having to sneak out yet another bloody carpet or clean even more blood off the floor. 

He tossed his legs over the edge of his bed and stood, groaning as his sore muscles gave a sharp twinge of protest, but hopefully, they’d be good as new in the morning, after some food and rest. Peter bent down and picked up the first shirt he found closest to him. He gave it the sniff test and, after deciding it didn’t smell horrible, he slipped it over his head and padded out into the living room to wait for Wade to get home.

It’d been two months since he’d asked Wade to move in with him, and, for the most part, living with Wade was like a dream. He cooked and cleaned and did the laundry (Peter _did_ help him more times than not, but sometimes he was just too busy to assist with the daily chores). The only thing Wade had asked for in return, was that Peter not touch his burritos and weapons.

 Peter violated both rules on a daily basis.

Mostly he did it because Wade liked to prop his bazooka and big ass assault rifles on the coffee table so a). Peter was unable to do his homework there, b). anyone who walked into the apartment could see them, and c). Wade only did it for shits and giggles. Peter repaid in kind by eating his burritos and tossing Wade’s weapons into the hallway closet cum laundry room. Wade never did anything but laugh, so Peter was sure he’d made up the rules just to be an ass.

There were, however, some unforeseen drawbacks. Some of those included:

  * Wade was basically a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.



He was gone at all hours of the day and night, and also came home at all hours of the day and night. Which, ordinarily, wouldn’t be an issue, except that they were sharing the bedroom until Peter’s lease was up and they could find a bigger place. It didn’t help that Peter was grumpy as fuck when woken up because he rarely got to enjoy sleep since he’d started the first year of his Ph.D., worked full time, and also fought crime as Spider-Man every night (and sometimes during the day).

  * Wade had insisted on bringing his Lay-z-boy with him.



Peter had taken one look at the flaky russet stains on the leather and had vehemently disagreed. (Logically Peter had known that Wade had bad days when the voices got too loud and he tried to silence them. But having the evidence shoved into his face by an adamant best friend who couldn’t see the problem with that, nearly broke his heart.)

They’d fought for a day.

Wade (because sometimes he could be a fucking dick) shot Clyde into the bedroom wall with an angry huff. Peter, instead of freaking out (because he’d been doing well at group therapy and because he was an even worse dick), webbed Wade to the ceiling, stole all the weapons from his Deadpool suit, and left him dangling there until his tantrum was over.

They eventually made up when Peter made apology tacos and they came to the compromise that Wade could keep the chair if, and _only_ if, he had it vigorously cleaned until all of the bloodstains were gone.

Wade ended up buying a new chair.

  * Fucking. _Pranks_.



Wade loved them.

And while Peter thought they were funny, _after_ the fact, in the moment all he wanted to do was, you know, _strangle_ him. The pranks varied in range. Wade flushed the toilet while Peter was in the shower, put wasabi in Peter’s mint chocolate ice-cream, changed all the clocks in the apartment (including Peter’s cell phone) to one hour before the actual time, moved everything in the apartment an inch to the left so Peter stumbled over everything at night when he had to piss or wanted a midnight snack, put salt in the empty sugar dish so that when Peter drank his morning coffee he put in several spoonful’s of said salt (he’d drank it, without missing a beat and staring Wade down the whole time, because he was the boss in this fucking apartment, _Goddammit_ ), and, for the coup de grâce, Wade threw actual spiders on him when they were eating dinner. _Real fucking spiders!_

“Aw don’t kill your brethren,” Wade had snort-laughed into his stir-fry.

Peter had let loose a high-pitched shriek—granted, not his finest moment—and shouted, “I’m not _actually_ related to them, Wade! Oh my god one went in my **_EAR_**! _GET IT OUT!_ ”

So, now they had an ongoing prank war because Peter refused to be beaten in his own home.

But the biggest drawback Peter couldn’t have foreseen was this:

  * Wade showed so much _skin_.



It started out, as most things did, with Peter being a stubborn idiot, namely: refusing to pay for air-conditioning because he said it was “useless and go suck a duck, jerk” anytime Wade would ask about it. However, a week came, smack dead in the hottest part of summer, that hit the top record heat-wave New York City had ever seen.

Wade, who already ran hot because of his healing factor but ran even hotter because he covered himself from head to toe with clothing to hide his scars, practically drowned in his own sweat every time he so much as moved a muscle. After all the pranking he’d put up with, Peter found it hilarious and went on with business as usual.

That is, until one evening Wade came out of the bathroom after having taken a shower, wearing black basketball shorts and a red tank top that read: “straight outta ‘changa.” Peter had been in the middle of asking Wade what he wanted for dinner and it’d taken Peter several minutes of staring at Wade’s muscular (like _so_ fucking muscular) arms and nicely shaped legs (he’d nearly drooled on his shirt) before he was able to finish asking his question.

And then it was like the floodgates had opened. Wade _always_ found a reason to wear tank tops and shorts, and, some nights, even went shirtless.

Peter had to admit to himself that he had a thing for his best friend, for fear of losing his sanity. Because, _Jesus_ , Wade was so well built (Peter had seen the scars enough not to even notice them anymore). What he _did_ notice, however, was the way Wade was suddenly just as cuddly and clingy as Peter was, especially in those moments of undress. (Now, every time he walked into a room where Wade was scantily dressed, for him at least, Peter had to either leave immediately so Wade wouldn’t see the tent in his sweats or cover his lap with a throw pillow from the couch.) It had taken Peter only an hour, after finally admitting to himself that he had a thing for Wade’s exposed skin, to come to terms with the fact that, no, he just had a thing for _Wade_ in general. Then it took only seconds after that for Peter to realize that, if he wanted to be in a relationship with Wade, then he was going to have to let the older man know he was interested.

Thus, operation Make Wade Mine was created.

Peter had thought long and hard about what would show Wade he was interested (he’d never realized it before, but they flirted an awful lot with each other on a regular basis), and it finally came to him when he’d thought back to that weird dream he’d had when Wade had been in his self-imposed exile.

Step one _clearly_ needed to involve him using Wade’s obvious daddy kink to show he was up for sexy times, but it had to be while he was awake and of clear mind, so Wade didn’t think it was just a fluke. (Peter had done some research into the BDSM scene and was fairly certain he was into the whole dominance thing, but he could work with a simple daddy kink.)

So, for the past week, Peter had been trying to find the perfect time to put his plan into action, but it was harder than one would think, especially because Wade tended to do things for Peter without asking or expecting anything in return. When he _was_ able to put his plan into motion, he received mixed results. The week had gone like this:

On Monday, Wade made him a packed lunch to take to work because Peter had told Wade he wouldn’t have time to get something. Peter, on his way out the door, had stepped close to Wade, hugged him tight, and whispered, “thank you, Daddy” into the taller man’s ear. When he’d finally gotten home, nearly ten hours later, Wade acted like his normal self and asked him if he was ready to go patrolling.

On Tuesday, Wade had been called into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for a reason he wasn’t supposed to disclose to Peter (they needed him to do recon on some sort of drug lord, Peter had stopped listening after Wade’s explanation veered off into which strain of cocaine was the best) and texted him that he’d be home late, but that there was leftover pizza in the fridge for dinner. Peter had texted back “You’re like pizza, Daddy. I want you tonight and the morning after.” To which Wade replied “ohhh food puns! Hells yes. If you wear a fruit you’d be a FINE-apple! ;_D”

On Wednesday, Wade was gone before Peter woke up, so Peter texted him asking where he was, and Wade had responded that he was out shopping. So, Peter, ever the kind of man to stick to a plan, sent Wade a picture of himself, sleep-rumpled, eyes half-lidded, the sheet slung low on his hips, exposing his chest and part of the vee of his waist, and said, “Come home, Daddy.” and also, “I want bagels.” Wade walked into the apartment not even five minutes later. He whistled “Hips Don’t Lie” as he sauntered into the bedroom and tossed a bag of bagels at Peter.  

On Thursday, Peter had a meeting with his adviser on his thesis proposal (which hadn’t gone well), Banner had told him to go back and reconfigure his amygdala suppressors with a lower dosage so they’d be able to use it for PTSD patients (he’d missed a variable in the equation and the whole thing exploded in his face and burnt half of one eyebrow off), and then he’d gone on patrol where he’d busted a child trafficking ring (the kids had been dirty and beaten and where the hell was the Avengers when shit like _this_ needed to be taken care of?), so he just wanted to go home and cuddle Wade and vent. However, when he’d finally crawled through the window in the living room, there was a note written on the fridge with Hello Kitty letter magnates that said: “Got job. Back 2morrow.” Peter immediately texted Wade, “Hurry up and finish your job, Daddy.” and then later texted, “I want cuddles.” Wade was back in the apartment in under three hours, wrapped around Peter like a warm blanket.

On Friday, Peter had recalibrated the suppressors and Banner was stoked that they’d be able to start running computer generated trials soon. High on success, Peter practically floated through the rest of the day. Except then Doc Ock decided to show his face and Spider-Man had to deal with him. Then, around eleven in the evening, Peter fell face first into bed because being a superhero was _tiring,_ especially when you got beaten to a pulp and there was no sexy best friend at home to doctor your wounds.

So, at three in the morning on Saturday, Peter grumpily sat on the couch as he waited for Wade to get back.

His knees were curled up to his chest as he drank warm chamomile tea from a Spider-Man mug Wade had bought because he’d thought it was funny and read one of his textbooks (if he was going to be up, he might as well get some extra reading done). By the time Wade stumbled in through the door twenty minutes later, carrying a bag of Thai takeout and one of his own arms, Peter was on his third mug of tea and had finally gotten ahead in his reading as well as written a bit on his thesis (in his mind, at least).

“Honey, I’m home,” Wade said as he kicked the door shut.

“’Bout fuckin’ time, Ricky Ricardo,” Peter grumbled.

He got up from the couch, closed his textbook, and placed the book in its designated spot on the bookshelf. Wade chuckled as he flopped onto the couch and set the bag of takeout on the coffee table. By the time Peter returned to the couch, Wade had just finished kicking off his combat boots.

“I come bearing gifts, Baby Boy,” Wade said as he plopped his severed arm into Peter’s lap. For his part, Peter just wrinkled his nose and pointed to the muddy boots (he was no stranger to gore and violence, plus, living with Deadpool had gotten him desensitized to severed limbs real fast).

“You know your shoes don’t go there, Red,” Peter said as he gripped the arm and stood. He began to walk to the bathroom (they’d finally fixed the lighting problem and now the bathroom was the most sanitary area of the apartment which turned into the perfect area to do stitches and reset broken bones and pop joints back into place). “You know the drill, take your suit off and meet me in the bathroom.”

“Why, Petey,” Wade said in his most fake southern belle accent, hand to heart and batting his eyelashes (Peter was able to tell these things now, even with Wade’s mask on), “I am a _lady_. I need to be bought _dinner_ first.” Wade then tilted his head, likely listening to one of the thought boxes, then said in his normal voice, “White wants me to inform you that we actually bought _you_ dinner.”

“Thanks, White,” Peter said, his voice flat. “Now take your fuckin’ suit off so I can reattach your Goddamned arm and get back to sleep.”

“So _pushy_ ,” Wade said with a grin before standing and disappearing into the bedroom. “I _know_ we like pushy. He could push us any day. _Mm-mm-mm_!”

Peter rolled his eyes because Wade knew he had enhanced hearing, so he knew Peter could hear that whole one-sided conversation.

He flicked on the bathroom light, set the amputated arm on the side of the tub, and rummaged around for the large med-kit they kept under the sink. He finally found it hiding behind a roll of paper towels and…yep, that was a stack of grenades. He was definitely going to have words with Wade about that, just not when he was half asleep. He sometimes wondered if Wade liked putting his weapons in random places for Peter to find as some twisted version of Easter egg hunting, because, one time, Peter found a machete in the fridge and a pistol in the breadbox.

He set the kit in the sink and opened it to take out a sharp scalpel. Then he picked up the severed arm and busied himself with cutting Wade’s suit off it, pulling the glove off as well. When the arm was bare, Peter was finally able to examine the damage it had taken.

Luckily, it looked like the arm had been cut cleanly, which meant the healing wouldn’t take as long. Peter was just glad Wade had brought his arm _back_. It was so much easier and faster to reattach the arm than it was to regrow it. Plus, not only did it take Wade several hours to regrow limbs, but it was too bizarre to see a baby anatomy on a full-grown man. Wade also liked to do weird shit when his extremities were all…baby-fied. Peter had a running theory it was because they lacked all the scars they usually had, and Wade liked to feel the skin while it was still “young”.

Wade came back just after Peter sanitized the scalpel and replaced it. He pulled out a medical-grade dissolvable string and needle and motioned for Wade to come in. Peter tried not to let his gaze linger on Wade’s shirtless chest or let it fall to Wade’s thighs, clad in only a pair of thin shorts. He had work to do and now wasn’t the time to indulge in _fantasies_.

“You’re lucky this was a clean cut,” Peter told him as Wade sat down on the toilet, so Peter could get to his shoulder. “The last time we did this, you had half of an extra humerus trying to reattach to your radius and ulna until I could cut it out.”

“That’s cus _I’m_ extra humorous, Petey-pie,” Wade said, grunting as Peter held the arm up and began the first stitch.

Peter shook his head at the pun as a fond smile crept up the sides of his lips. He used a bit of silk from a web shooter to keep Wade’s arm stuck in place while he worked.

“I _know_ that was funny. But he’s not laughing,” Wade said as he gripped the side of the sink while Peter mercilessly pressed the needle in and out of Wade’s scarred skin, his hands steady with well-practiced ease and his lines near perfect. “Petey-pie, why aren’t you laughing? You love my puns.”

“I’m too fuckin’ tired to laugh at stupid,” Peter said. He instantly felt bad about his comment when Wade’s shoulder’s drooped. “I did smile though.”

Wade instantly brightened and started up a monolog on the history of puns and why they were important in pop-culture. Peter let his soothing voice fade to background noise as he carefully stitched the arm back into place. Wade’s skin had already started accepting the arm back. It wouldn’t take long, maybe half an hour, for the arm to grow back its tendons, arteries, veins, and nerves. It’d take longer for the stitches to dissolve enough that they could be pulled out.

By the time Peter was finished, he finally allowed himself to tune back into what Wade was saying.

“—so, then I told him, I said, ‘Whitey, I can definitely fit this whole fuckin’ burger in my mouth like Shaggy does in _Scooby-Doo_ , just you fuckin’ watch.’ And that’s the story of how I got these scars—hehe ‘I’m Batman’…oh shit, you’re right. Wrong universe, my bad—but problem is, they ain’t on the corners of my mouth anymore, on account o’my healin’ factor. But I showed _him_ —yes, I did too. You’re a fuckin’ _liar_! Because you never said I couldn’t cut my face to make my mouth wider! Fuck you too, ya fuckin’ cunt. You’re just jelly cus I won the bet an’ shit—anyway, Spidey, so as I was doin’ the cuttin’ the waitress came over an’ made me stop, so I never got the chance to see if I could do it, ya dig? But I—”

“Why were you doing it _in_ the store?” Peter asked. He didn’t have the brain capacity to ask how that story had been related to pop-culture. “If you’d’ve gone to an alley or come home, then you could’ve actually tested it.”

“Well, Yellow made the counter bet that I couldn’t get both sides cut before the lovely waitress flipped her shit—I mean seriously tho, Baby Boy, girl had a rack on her the size of Jessica Rabbit, with curves to match. A true fuckin’ treasure, amirite?” Wade answered, rolling his shoulder to adjust his reattaching arm.

“Red,” Peter sighed, sliding a hand up Wade’s good shoulder, to squeeze his neck softly, “I told you that you shouldn’t hurt yourself just because you can. I know you feel pain.”

“But it heals either way,” Wade said, leaning into Peter’s hand when it migrated up to the absently pet at the back of his masked head.

Peter sighed and knew it was an argument to save for later (and many times after that until Wade stopped hurting himself).

Instead, he asked, “did Yellow win?”

“Shit nah. Those idgits never win, s’why there such sore ass losers. I used two fuckin’ knives and sliced both sides at the same time,” Wade said as he got up and headed to the kitchen.

Peter cleaned up the bathroom and then went back to the living room to flop onto the sofa. He lived to instantly regret that action when all his bruises throbbed. Wade arguing with the boxes in the kitchen covered the low grunt of pain he let out and he heard the telltale signs of plates clinking.

“Yes, it _does_ count, asshole. You _never_ said that I couldn’t do that. Goddamn, you an’ Whitey never look at the loopholes,” Wade said as he shuffled back into the living room, two plates in hand, along with a fork and a spoon. “Is there anyone in this apartment who isn’t annoyed with me, right now?”

Peter gave him a tired smile because while he was grumpy and wanted sleep, he also loved Wade’s company and wouldn’t trade it for the world. He started unpacking the food Wade had brought back, not at all surprised Wade remembered his order.

“I won’t be annoyed if you bring me a glass of milk,” Peter said as Wade set the plates down and Peter began dishing out their meals.

“Oh, you’re such a weenie, Spider-babe. Can’t take the heat?” Wade asked, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively under his mask.

“No, I’m just smart and know how to fend against the spice,” Peter grumbled as Wade went back to the kitchen to grab their drinks.

“If you’re not here to win, get the hell out of Kuwait!” Wade called back.

“I shouldn’t’ve ever let you watch _Pitch Perfect_ ,” Peter mumbled to himself.

“What was that, Petey-pie?” Wade asked as he came back in holding a glass of milk and a glass of soda.

“You’re gonna regret that choice in drink,” Peter replied as he took his cup from Wade, set it on the coffee table, and then shoved a spoonful of Thai green curry into his mouth.

“Why’s that, Smarty Pants?” Wade asked as he sat down, propped his feet on the coffee table and began eating his Som Tam.

“That’s _Doctor_ Smarty to you, peasant,” Peter replied. He nudged Wade’s side with one of his bare feet (Peter had a propensity to curl up sideways on any furniture that involved sitting) and leaned back against the armrest of the couch, his legs crossed like a pretzel, to take the sting out of his words. “And it’s because coke—any soft drink, really—converts into sulfuric acid at high temperatures. So, if you think drinking coke will reduce the heat in your stomach and mouth, just remember that all you’re doing is increasing the number of acids you’re ingesting. Plus, the watery nature of the coke will do nothing but coat your tongue further in the oil from the spice, because oil and water don’t mix.”

“Huh,” Wade said. He then stared Peter down as he took a large gulp of his coke.

“Your funeral,” Peter shrugged. “Turn on the TV. I wanna finish _Ms. Panda and Mr. Hedgehog_.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ weeb,” Wade snorted as he grabbed the x-box controller.

He turned on the television and sat back as the next episode played. Peter watched with rapt attention, glad that Wade had brought the TV with him when he’d moved in, along with several game consoles and games (those were pretty much the only things Wade seemed to own that he took almost religious care of, besides his weapons.) It wasn’t long until Peter’s full stomach and Wade’s warm side (he’d snuggled up to Wade as soon as he’d finished eating) pulled him into a light slumber.

He woke up, however, when he felt himself being lifted into the air.

“Wa’s goin’ on?” he asked as Wade walked him into the bedroom and set him gently down on the bed.

“Just tuckin’ ya in, sleepyhead.”

“’Kay,” Peter said. He curled up into a ball as Wade settled the blanket over him, but he sat up when Wade turned to leave. “Where’re you goin’?”

“The living room needs cleaned up,” was Wade’s simple answer.

“Leave it. Come t’bed,” Peter said, making grabby hands towards Wade. When Wade hesitated, Peter (who could be a manipulative asshole when he wanted to get his way and wasn’t above emotional blackmail) let out a needy sound from the back of his throat and whined, “ _please_ , Daddy.”

 If it helped him get what he wanted (Wade’s warm, _strong_ , arms holding him while he slept) that was just the bonus of operation Make Wade Mine.

Wade made a sound like a balloon slowly letting out air.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease, Spidey,” Wade said as he slid into the bed behind Peter, pulling Peter’s back flush against his chest. “Don’t think I haven’t figured ya out. You basically only say that to get your way.”

“Mmm, I’ll stop sayin’ it when it stops workin’,” Peter mumbled as he leaned back to grab Wade’s hand. He pulled Wade’s arm around his waist and linked their fingers together, leaning his head against Wade’s bicep when the other man slipped it under his head.

Wade slid his left leg up, so he could hook it around Peter’s right, effectively tangling their bodies together. He leaned down so that Peter could feel hot breath ghost across the shell of his ear, which made Peter shudder and unconsciously press himself further into Wade’s body, and he whispered, “you can say it in that whiney, needy tone, all ya want, Baby Boy. It still gives me ammo for m’spank bank.”

Peter giggled because he knew that’s what was expected of him (and it wasn’t hard for him to smile in Wade’s presence), but inside his mind whirled. The problem with wanting to be with Wade was that Wade flirted with him like that on a daily basis and had been doing so since they’d first met. But now that Peter realized he wanted to be with the ex-merc, he wasn’t sure if it was all just another layer of armor (like his jokes and chatty personality) or if it was real.

Either way, Peter soon fell asleep to the feeling of a scarred hand carding through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies. I'm not really sure how this chapter turned out. It was mostly word vomit with a few grammar edits. Let me know what you guys think.


	2. Step Two: Get Caught Fraternizing by Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a more serious tone than I was expecting. #sorrynotsorry

The first time it happened, Peter was in his lab at Stark Industries.

A few days had passed since Peter had learned that he could practically get Wade to do anything he asked as long as he infused his request with the word “daddy” and his most needy whine, batted his long eyelashes, and bit his lip _just_ the right way that emphasized his strong jawline and the plush pink skin of his mouth. Wade would always narrow his eyes and make a snarky remark about Peter using his kinks for personal gain, but the older man’s voice was always just _that_ bit higher, that bit huskier.

So far Peter found that he could make Wade come home early from wherever he was if Peter demanded it. If Peter disapprovingly pointed to the many alarming (and often loaded) weapons that Wade decided to drag through their door, Wade would banish them to the laundry room without hesitation, though he always sighed and groused about hiding his precious, beautiful babies away from the world. Wade even stopped his incessant pranks once Peter had said something (though Peter had grown attached to their prank war, so he wasn’t so sure their ceasefire would last).

Peter loved the effect he had on the older man because it made him feel powerful and important. However, Peter would love being with Wade even without anything sexual happening between them. Wade’s insane spontaneity kept Peter’s brain engaged in all the things life had to offer, and it helped that most of the things Wade did and said always tended to put a dopey grin on Peter’s face. They just…matched, somehow, in personality, humor, outlooks on life, and intelligence.

“What’s with your face, kid?” came a rumbling, sardonic voice from Peter’s left. Peter pushed his thick black glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced over his shoulder to see Tony Stark standing in the middle of the large white lab Peter had been working in all morning, his hands clasped behind his back as he examined the many experiments that lined a table near the door. “It almost looks like you’re smiling.”

Peter rolled his eyes, his smile falling from his face in an instant. He had nothing against Stark (Tony was a pretty cool guy when you got past the narcissism), but the man always tended to suck the air right out of the room with his larger-than-life, dramatic personality which somehow always succeeded in making Peter feel like he was inferior.

Peter finished typing up his observations (and new hypotheses since he’d accidentally created a new acidic compound with one of the many minor experiments he’d been running) and walked over to stand next to Stark.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked as he stuffed his hands into his white lab coat for lack of anything better to do with them.

He was always anxious when he interacted with his boss’s boss, because while he always knew the right snarky remark to throw at Iron Man while he was Spider-Man, as Peter Parker, he was just a ball of nervous energy that couldn’t grow a backbone for fear of linking himself and his vigilante persona together.

Stark inclined his head towards a large plant that sat in a well-illuminated glass tube beside several gadgets and circuit boards Peter had discarded when he’d decided to write up the notes of his experiments. Tony had given Peter his own lab when he’d promoted Peter to a full-time employee. Because of this, Peter now had free rein to explore whatever field of scientific inquiry he wanted, as long as he delivered something to Banner (who was _supposed_ to be the head scientist on the floor Peter worked on but had less contact with Peter than Stark did) at the end of each week.

“Tell me about this,” Stark said, as he rested his open palm against the glass tube. He scratched pensively at his ridiculous beard with his other hand.

The plant, which looked like an oversized Venus fly trap with long leaves that met at the stem and seemed to ripple with life, leaned towards the heat it could sense coming off Stark’s hand.

“I crossbred a Venus flytrap with a mimosa plant,” Peter answered, turning to look at Stark with wide, excited eyes. He was nothing, if not a fanboy for science. “I wanted to see if I could create a plant that could move their whole stems to catch their prey, not just pieces of the ‘flower’.”

“Interesting. What’d you find? Seedpeople?” Stark asked as one of his dark eyebrows rose and he removed his hand. The plant leaned back to the center of its pot.

“I succeeded in getting it to move its leaves like hands. Well…kinda. It can now _also_ sense the shape and size of objects, as well as temperature, emissivity, and reflection of external sources from those objects’ surfaces. Anything on par with animal or human emissions are misinterpreted as prey,” Peter replied, shrugging. “I named it Seymour.”

“What the hell kinda _Little Shop of Horrors_ is your lab, kid? You basically made a plant that can _see_.”

Stark laughed incredulously, and Peter flushed with embarrassment, turning towards a hovering computer screen so he could hide his face.

“Well, I refrained from naming the plant Audrey Two, just in case it turns out to be a sentient alien,” Peter replied.

He tried to keep the condescension out of his tone, but it was unsuccessful, judging by the way Stark smirked, which created wrinkles at the sides of his obnoxious beard.

Stark clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter repressed the urge to shrug the hand off. He always felt like Stark was patronizing him when he patted Peter’s shoulder like that like he was a patient father letting his child ramble about his finger paintings.   

“Not that I don’t love a good nerdy project,” Stark began. Peter leaned away from the offending hand to tap out a few lines of an equation on the computer to have something to do other than stand next to Stark. He needed the equation in order to reapply his nano-gel technology to self-replicating polymers which he intended to fit into body armor to make it virtually indestructible but light enough for full range of mobility (because he was so fucking tired of having to resew his Spidey suit). “But how far are you on decreasing the range and power to the amygdala suppressors?”

“Oh. _That_?” Peter waved his hand at one of the back tables in his lab. “Those have been done since Friday. Dr. Banner is in the middle of running computer simulated trials in order to see if there are any side effects for non-mutates. _I’m_ currently trying to fit the tech to mutants who don’t have healing factors, since, as you know, the X-Gene raises the levels of naturally occurring chemicals in the brain. I don’t wanna accidentally cause someone’s head to explode.”

“I’d like to borrow them,” Stark said as he sauntered over to the table Peter indicated. There, resting in a small box with foam borders, were the prototype amygdala suppressors for regular, nonmutated humans. Stark picked up the microchips and held the tiny brain implants up to the bright lights of the lab, admiring the complex wiring.

Starks words caught Peter off guard.

He snapped his head up to look at Stark with narrowed eyes, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Those are _not_ ready for human trials, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, worried that the older man would try to test them on himself. By now, Peter was very familiar with Tony’s mental health and lack of impulse control which made a _very_ dangerous (and largely self-destructive) combination.  

“Jesus, kid. Cool your jets,” Stark said, “I want to combine your tech with my binarily augmented retro-framing program. I think we could corner the market on psychological treatment methods without doping people up and sending ‘em out into the world like conscious zombies.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter said as he turned back to his computer and finished tapping out his equation.

His tensed shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Thanks, Pete,” Stark said as he placed the microchips back into their holder and began to walk out of Peter’s lab. “Also, since you’re workin’ so hard and making progress, I made you something. Have fun with it, kid!”

Peter looked up in confusion, but Stark had already pretentiously swaggered out of Peter’s lab. Peter, who was used to Tony’s obscure and vague comments, just shrugged and went back to his work.

 He pulled up a chair to one of his workbenches and took up a soldering iron to apply to a new circuit board, which promptly clattered out of his hand and back onto the table when a voice spoke up.

“Hello, Peter,” said a cheerful female from somewhere on the ceiling. When Peter looked up, there was no one there, so he had to assume Stark had updated the AI that ran the building.

“Friday?” Peter asked, as he picked up the soldering iron and pressed it to a metal filament. “You have any idea what Mr. Stark meant before he left?”

“I’m not Friday, Peter,” the female voice stated rather matter-of-factly. “Mr. Stark made me just for you.”

“Wait, what?” Peter asked, “What do you mean, just for me?”

“He’s especially fond of you and thought it might help to have your own secure server in case you’d like to do experiments that you don’t want to be filed with the Stark Industries database.”

“Um, okay. Thanks, disembodied voice lady.”

He’d have to process that bit of information later, because, yeah. Stark _so_ knew what Peter did in his free time. With a sigh, Peter ran his free hand through his hair, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He’d known for a while now, that Tony suspected he was Spider-Man. However, he hadn’t known Tony was so sure about it, that he’d built an AI so that Peter could do Spider-Man experiments in his lab without fear of prying eyes.

Several moments of awkward silence passed as Peter designed the circuit that would hold the data for the new suppressors, before Peter said, “I feel like calling you voice lady is rude. Do you have a name?”

“You can name me whatever you want, Peter,” the voice gently assured.

“How about Gwen—no, that’s…weird,” he said, scratching his chin. He realized that he needed to shave when his fingers came into contact with the prickly stubble on his jaw. “What about Karen?”

“You can call me Karen if you’d like.”

“Okay, Karen it is,” he declared, as he went back to putting together the chip. “Karen, can you start the playlist on my Spotify called ‘work tunez’ and put it on shuffle?”

“Sure, Peter.”

Soon, soft indie music filled the lab. Peter didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone, as his lab was soundproof. (Banner had learned his lesson the hard way, the last time Peter’s sonic wave gun, which had been made to relieve muscle pain, had malfunctioned, causing most of the people on the floor, including Peter himself, to pass out for over two hours.) Peter hummed along to the music absently, his shoulders easing into a relaxed slump. The intense focus Peter had on the project in his nimble hands, turned everything else around him into a wall of easily ignorable sound.

When a significant amount of time had passed while Peter focused on his tech (his stomach growled, letting him know it was now lunchtime and that it was mad he’d skipped breakfast), Karen said, “you have a visitor, Peter.”

“Thanks.”

He’d just finished uploading the chip he’d completed to his computer and was in the middle of typing up notes on his progress into an encrypted file when a man burst through his door. Peter had just enough time to close the file and stand before a body rushed at him and tackled him to the floor. Gloved hands came up to protect Peter’s head from the hard impact of the ground tiles.

The wind knocked out of his lungs.

But his Spidey Sense didn’t go off.

Before Peter could say anything, a familiar Desert Eagle was pressed under his chin and the body above him said, “Hiya. I don’t wanna hurt ya, I just need a place t’lay low for a bit. No—we’re _not_ gonna shoot him in the leg. Just cus he’s a scientist, doesn’t mean we gotta hurt ‘em. Like Whitey said. He’s too young, to’ve worked on Weapon X.”

“What the hell is the gun for, Red?” Peter asked as he pushed the pistol away from his face and readjusted his glasses that had been knocked askew when Deadpool had jumped him. He glared up at his roommate and let out an annoyed huff of breath.

“ _Petey-pie?_ ” The eyes of the Deadpool mask widened comedically as the taller man leaned closer to get a good look at Peter’s face. Granted, Peter knew he didn’t look like himself with the glasses on, because he tended to not wear them at home since they hindered his vision. However, he suffered through the momentary discomfort every day at work, because they were part of his bumbling nerd persona (no one would ever expect someone like Spider-Man to need glasses). “Whatcha doin’ _here_ Baby Boy?”

“You _know_ I work for Stark,” Peter said, poking Deadpool in the forehead before tossing the man off him with his super strength and dusting off his lab coat as he stood. “Why are you hiding? And who are you hiding from?”

 “Hot damn, he _does_ look sex-a-luscious in a lab coat, doesn’t he? I didn’t know we had a lab coat kink. Mmhm, wonder if we could get him to wear it _naked_ ,” Deadpool murmured to the boxes as he stood and leaned into Peter’s personal space. Peter blushed but stood his ground. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d definitely buy a new one for them to fool around with, because the lab coat draped over his narrow shoulders belonged to Stark Industries, and the idea that Stark could, in any way, be involved with their love life was just…ew. “I’m running from those S.H.I.E.L.D. douchebags. They want me t’go on another mission tonight, but I remember promisin’ to go see that midnight showing of _Jurassic World_ with ya. Plus, they’ve been keepin’ me runnin’ on fumes for the past few weeks, an’ I wanna just chill for a mo’.”

Peter shook his head as he snorted out a laugh.

“Dude. _Fuckin’ wha_?” he quoted before he could help himself. It was worth it to see Deadpool’s smile, even though it was covered by his mask.

“A mo’,” Deadpool responded, adopting the bored tone from the anime parody they were both quoting from.

“What?”

“You know. A moment.”

“Ha, you’re so gay.”

“Oh, God.”

Peter snickered into his left hand at the fact that they’d really just paused their entire conversation to quote a stupid parody before he sat on the corner of his desk. Like a magnet (or an object being pulled in by Peter’s gravitational force), Deadpool followed. He stepped between Peter’s spread thighs and Peter couldn’t help but latch his thumb and forefinger onto the leather flap of one of the many pouches at the waist of Deadpool’s costume. The material between his fingers was soft and cool to the touch and, for a moment, Peter lost himself in the feel of it. Deadpool, who by now was used to Peter’s eccentricities, just leaned closer and babbled on about anime and how Peter would love the show he’d heard two British S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arguing about.  

Several moments later, and with a great act of self-restraint, Peter forced himself to look up at Deadpool and said in his best Spider-Man voice, “seriously, Red. What did you do?”

“I may’ve gotten into a bit of a pickle, Baby Boy—just because I set off _one_ micro explosion, doesn’t mean it’s a big deal, Whitey. You gotta _live_ a lil,” Deadpool said as he leaned away from Peter (until then Peter hadn’t realized they’d been slowly drifting towards each other.)

Peter shook his head and rubbed his temples with his hands when a headache began to throb at the back of his eyes.

“ _Of course_ , you set off an explosion,” Peter said, rolling his eyes and sighing.

“Just a _lil_ one, Spidey-babe. It was more like a firework than a bomb, promise,” Deadpool said as he moved away from Peter (Peter made a mental note to have Karen scramble all the times Deadpool slipped up with his Spider-Man nicknames, in case Stark reviewed the footage from the cameras in Peter’s lab).

Deadpool picked up the shiny red and black sonic gun prototype that sat on a table near Peter’s actual desk (the gun Peter still hadn’t managed to get to work properly and would probably knock them both out for several hours if shot). Peter’s quick reflexes and enhanced speed allowed him to take the gun out of Deadpool’s hands before he could pull the trigger.

“You can stay here, but I need you not to touch anything, okay? I’m running experiments that are very sensitive, Wade,” Peter said as he placed the gun back on its stand.

“So, I get to watch your glorious booty at work, but gotta keep m’hands to myself?” Deadpool asked as he pulled the nearest work stool over to Peter’s desk, sat down on it, and propped his booted feet up on the corner of the said desk. He was out of the way enough that Peter would still have room to use his computer, but his elbow would brush up against the top of Deadpool’s leg every time he moved. Peter didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Yeah, dude,” Peter said, shrugging.

He sat back down at his desk, opened the encrypted file, and went back to typing. He’d done enough work in Wade’s presence that the stare he could feel figuratively burning the back of his neck was easily ignored, and the brush of his arm against Deadpool’s suit was grounding in the way only touches from the older man could be.

“Didja know that ‘dude’ can be used as a verb? Like, da fuck? Amirite? But it means ‘to dress pretty’ or some shit—burgled _is_ to a verb, Yellow, ya fuckin’ dingus. Oh, hells yeah! Masticate sounds like masturbate! Can you burgle someone while you dude and masticate? Well, I _guess_ you could masturbate too? But why would’ya wanna chew somethin’ while jackin’ off? Oh, _yeah_ , that could work.” Deadpool let out a loud, geeky snort-laugh that put a smile on Peter’s face.

“Dude, when used as a verb, means to dress _intricately_ , you uncultured swine. And you used it in the wrong context,” Peter replied, unable to keep himself from correcting the anti-hero. “You have to—”

“You have incoming, Peter,” Karen suddenly announced, just as three security guards and a wild-eyed and furious Tony Stark marched into Peter’s lab, followed by Bruce Banner and an off-duty Steve Rogers. 

“Get the hell away from my employee, Deadtool,” Tony seethed as soon as he saw how close Deadpool was sitting to Peter.  

“Uh, can I help you, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked irritably, turning in his chair to face all the newcomers in his lab with pinched eyebrows and a clenched jaw.

He didn’t like that Stark kept interrupting his work (Deadpool’s interruption didn’t really count—he could talk to Deadpool and work at the same time, as he had much practice since the man couldn’t stay quiet for the life of him). He didn’t like the way Stark and Rogers, and even Bruce was looking at Deadpool (like he was moments away from putting Bea and Arthur through Peter’s neck). He liked the unknown security guards (who were staring at his experiments with equal measures of awe and caution—apparently everyone in the building had heard of Peter’s rather disastrous malfunctioning tech) even less.

“I’m kinda tryin’ to work on the suppressors. I promised Dr. Banner they’d be done by the end of the day,” Peter continued when no one said anything. Not even Deadpool. “So, again, what can I help you with?”

“Son,” Rogers said, pointing at Deadpool. “Do you know who that is?”

Peter looked at Deadpool with a raised eyebrow, his look clearly asking, “was that a joke?”

“Don’t look at me with those pretty, puppy brown eyes, Baby Boy,” Deadpool said, shaking his head as he pulled out the knife from the top of his left boot and began to casually twirl it in his fingers. Everyone in the room, besides Peter, tensed. “I’m just here to admire the smexy form you cut in that hella nerdy sweater vest and tie combo. Don’t mind lil ‘ol me.”

“Yeah,” Stark spoke up. “Didn’t I tell you to get the hell away from my intern?”

“Not an intern,” Peter said to Stark, before looking over to Rogers. “Yeah, this is Deadpool, the ex-merc with a mouth.”

“Kid, this guy—”

“Wasn’t bothering me,” Peter said. “Sir.”

“—is a murdering…wait. What?” The confused look on Stark’s face was priceless. Peter had to stifle his urge to laugh.

Deadpool, on the other hand, felt no such compunction.

“Haha! Your _face_ , Iron Dick” Deadpool said, laughing manically as he mimed wiping a tear away from his mask. “Fuck that was beautiful.”

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter hissed as he stood and lightly smacked Deadpool upside the back of his head. All of the people in the room froze and the air suddenly charged with the promise of a fight, though Deadpool just smiled and caught Peter’s hand with his own.

“Kid wait don’t—”

“Peter maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Son don’t hit—”

“—we talked about the manners thing,” Peter said, rolling his eyes as he tugged Deadpool to his feet, using some of his super strength just in case Deadpool was unwilling to get up.

“He deserved it, Baby Boy,” Deadpool said as he let himself be guided to the entrance of the lab (and by default, towards the waiting heroes) by the hand Peter rested on the small of his back, right under the katanas. “Plus, c’mon. It was hella fuckin’ funny, Petey-pie. You havta admit. Even _Whitey_ laughed. Whitey. The king of fuckin’ wet blankets.”

“Even so, Red,” Peter said with a small smile.

“What. Hold the fuck up,” Tony said when he’d finally picked his jaw up off the floor. “Pete, you _know_ this guy?”

“Son,” Rogers said in his Disapproving Voice™, “could you explain…this, please?” Rogers gestured at the hand Peter had against Deadpool’s back and the fact that Deadpool hadn’t cut said hand off.

“Yeah, I’d like some clarification too, Peter,” Bruce said, crossing his arms and sticking one of the legs of his glasses into his mouth, the way he did when he was thinking extra hard on an impossible equation.

 “We’re friends,” Peter said, the _obviously_ , going unsaid but still heavily implied.

“Friends?” almost every person asked in shocked unison. Peter shook his head and pushed Deadpool towards the door.

“Look, I need to work and you’re all interrupting,” Peter sighed. “Please leave.”

“But Pete-cute, you said I could watch ya work,” Deadpool pouted.

“That was _before_ you brought all these distractions to my lab,” Peter replied. “Go tell S.H.I.E.L.D. to fuck off so you can be free.” He stepped closer to Deadpool, leaned up to give him a gentle hug, and whispered into his ear, “if you get ‘em off your back for the next week, I’ll make it up to you, Daddy.”

“Bye Felecia,” Deadpool said as he practically skipped out of the lab.

Peter smiled after him, but it morphed into a frown when none of the other bodies left.

“Was there something else?” Peter asked with a raised brow. The security guards shook their heads and quickly made their exits.

“Son—” Peter didn’t like the concerned look on Roger’s narrow face.

“He works for S.H.I.E.L.D. and doesn’t kill anymore,” Peter said, cutting off all of their arguments before any of them could say anything. “He’s only dangerous when he’s had good reason to be. We’re friends, and I can handle him if he gets out of hand. There’s nothing else to say.”

Rogers and Bruce nodded and walked away, both having to drag Stark behind them when he tried to protest Peter’s logic. Peter sighed in relief when they finally left and went back to his desk, but not before he heard Stark say, “ _Friends_ , Capsicle. Pete’s a fuckin’ _saint_.”

Peter’s smile didn’t waver, even when he hacked Karen’s programming and found the “Training Wheels Protocol” running as spyware on the edge of Karen’s consciousness. Not even when he found the backdoor program called the “Baby Monitor Protocol” that would alert Stark to any unforeseen visitors or Spider-Man mishaps that might happen, which explained how he knew where to find Deadpool. Peter, of course, disabled the software, gaining access to Karen’s full potential as an AI which allowed her to gain a personality the longer she was online and active and put in place his own firewalls that were a bit more complex than Tony’s and much more…guerrilla warfare on electronics if hacked into. He then had Karen scrub the footage of Deadpool mentioning Spider-Man.

He used Karen to hack Friday, putting in place the “Over Protective Dad” protocol that would alert Karen if Stark ever tried to spy on him without his permission. Then, because he was an ass and knew he could get away with it, he changed all of Stark’s protocols to funnier names.

He giggled the whole time and didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

 

* * *

 

 

The second time it happened, was a month after the first. Peter nearly had a panic attack and also narrowly avoided fucking everything completely up with Wade. Again.

Peter had never taken much stock in his looks, having suffered much grief for them during his adolescence. He’d been relentlessly bullied since middle school for wearing glasses (which he didn’t need now that he was a mutate, but still wore to ensure his identity was separate from Spider-Man) and for being too skinny and small. He’d been teased for his style of clothing, which had two modes: preppy nerd and stoned skater (there was no in between), for his hair, which always tended to grow faster than he could get it cut (so it always looked like he’d either just rolled out of bed or he had to spend half an hour trying to tame the thick waves of his fluffy brown mane), and for the way his jaw fell (it always looked like there was something in his mouth he was trying to keep from escaping).

However, even though Peter himself didn’t think he was that attractive, he had the many comments from several X-Men (Kitty, Rogue, and Gambit), Johnny Storm, and the receptionist from the Bugle (Betty Brant) to assure him that he was easy on the eyes. This is the reason that Peter took to walking around their apartment practically naked, a majority of the time (which was harder to do, since Wade had finally convinced Peter to pay for air conditioning), showing off the tan skin of his slender and lightly muscled gymnast body.

Wade’s reactions whenever Peter was naked _and_ used his daddy kink, caused Peter to become even bolder in his flirtations with Wade.

If they were eating something especially delicious, he’d put on a show with near-pornographic moans and licks of his tongue against his fork or spoon. He never held back from snuggling up to the warmth of Wade’s inhuman body heat, usually climbing up Wade’s muscular body and wrapping his legs and arms around the masked antihero like Wade was a giant, space-heating, pillow-mountain. If they were both in the bed, about to sleep, Peter would tangle their legs together and nuzzle Wade’s neck and chest and barely kept himself from pressing kisses to Wade’s uncovered skin (he wasn’t about to have sex with the man when he’d never properly seen Wade’s face).

Wade never once told Peter to stop (Peter was serious about consent and if Wade even hinted that he wanted Peter to stop or didn’t like what Peter was doing, Peter would halt his actions immediately.) So, things began to escalate to the point that the only thing stopping them from being labeled as a healthy, sexually active couple, was the actual sex and kissing part (not for lack of hinting by Peter). At this point, Peter could only assume either Wade didn’t actually want sex, or he didn’t want it with _Peter_ , because the man never made any moves himself. Which made Peter start to lose hope, though he didn’t stop his advances.

So, a month after revealing to the Avengers that they were friends, Spider-Man and Deadpool teamed up with Daredevil to take out some arms dealers that had set up a trade route from Hell’s Kitchen to Queens. It was an easy takedown with all three vigilantes enhanced in some way (Deadpool insisted on calling them Team Red, which Spider-Man had to agree to, after noticing they all three wore that same shade), so Peter was able to take Wade to their third viewing of the latest _Jurassic World_ movie—Peter was slightly obsessed with dinosaurs okay? Sue him. Thus, by the time they got back to the apartment, Peter was so tired he’d curled around Wade (who’d barely taken off his jeans) and passed out.

The next afternoon the sun streamed in through the window of the bedroom and painted everything in hues of gold and orange. Dust motes fluttered lazily through the beams of light that filtered into the room and settled bright and warm on the linoleum floor. The pigeons outside chirped a greeting to the loud traffic and shouting pedestrians on the streets below their perch. Sheets rustled as an arm shifted under a pillow, pulling it closer to a tousled head of brown hair.

Peter wrinkled his nose as one of those beams of light hit him directly in the face, lighting the backs of his eyelids bright red. He blinked several times before his brain came online and he realized he was practically starfishing in the bed. He shifted the arm that wasn’t holding a pillow to his head, searching for the body heat he’d gotten used to sleeping with the past couple of months. The side of the bed he wasn’t actively trying to absorb as his own, was empty and cold.

In the time it took Peter to full body stretch and yawn, he finally registered that he’d woken up on his own, and not because an alarm had gone off. And then he remembered he finally had a blessed day off.

He took stock of the bedroom then.

No clothes littered the floor, the dresser drawers were pushed all the way closed, the gadgets he was prone to fiddle with before bed (when he wasn’t so tired he immediately passed out) were lined neatly up against the wall on his side of the room, his cameras and photography detritus were expertly packed into their cases next to the gadgets, the weapons that tended to liter the other side of the room were completely missing (as well as the comics and Mexican food wrappers), and the stack of books he distinctly remembered placing (and subsequently leaving) on his nightstand the night before, was gone.

“Wade?” he called, rubbing his right palm against his right eye as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and staggered up and out of the bedroom. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and he shivered. It was much cooler in the apartment than when he’d gone to bed, especially since he was only wearing a pair of tight black boxer briefs with the Deadpool symbol on the ass (he’d gotten them because the way Wade’s voice had risen an octave and the way he hadn’t been able to keep from making grabby hands at Peter’s body had been amusing) and nothing else. “Red? Where you at?”

“In the kitchen,” called the familiar voice.

Bleary-eyed and still sleepy, Peter shuffled into the kitchen to find Wade leaning over a pan of sizzling bacon, wearing a soft looking zip-up hoodie that Peter knew had the Spider-Man logo on the front (it was one of Wade’s favorites), and well-worn jeans.

Peter’s body immediately gravitated towards the taller man.

He went to hug Wade from behind, then thought better of it, since he was shorter (it would be too much effort to lift his arms for a hug, obviously). Instead, he hopped up and stuck himself to Wade’s back, resting his head on Wade’s shoulder and rubbing his cheek against Wade’s neck, which was slightly covered by his soft lounge mask. His legs curled around Wade’s waist effectively completing Peter’s effort to become a human blanket.

“Uh, Petey,” Wade said, his voice slightly off. Peter was too tired to try and interpret his tone. “Petey-pie, maybe you should, uh-hem, put some uh, clothes. On.”

“Mmm, nah, s’nice here,” Peter said, using his knees to keep himself stuck to Wade so his arms could be free to wrap around the ex-merc’s neck. He pushed Wade’s head to the side and lifted the man’s mask a bit, so he could drag his nose against the fantastic smell of the eucalyptus and spearmint cologne Wade must’ve put on earlier in the day. “M’cold n’tired. Come back t’bed.”

“Spide— _Pete_ , I’m in the middle of—”

“Smell nice,” Peter groaned, unable to stop his tongue from darting out to lap at the uneven skin right behind his ear, where the delicious smell was coming from. Peter’s voice was practically a growl when he said, “Come back t’bed. _Please_ , Daddy. Want you.”

“ _Hng_! Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Wade moaned, as he flipped some of the bacon, gripping the handle of the pan so hard his knuckles turned white, and making no move to do as Peter asked. Peter let out a petulant huff which blew cool air against the wet strip behind Wade’s ear and caused the taller man to shudder. “Baby Boy, I’m makin’ breakfast, so you should really—”

“Fine. I want French toast, Daddy,” Peter purred, his lips hot and soft against Wade’s mask covered ear.

The breath left Wade’s chest like he’d been punched, and Peter could feel his broad, tall body as it leaned into Peter’s lither frame. Peter smirked and trailed a hand down Wade’s throat. He skimmed it under the top of the hoodie to lazily rub at the bumpy skin he was more than happy to find underneath the thin, downy fabric.

“Pete, I don’t think—”

“Please, _Daddy_?” Peter quietly whined, stopping himself just short of nipping Wade’s neck, and instead, pressing his nose back into that amazing smelling cologne.

A throat cleared behind them and Peter nearly jumped off Wade and onto the ceiling. The only reason he didn’t was because Wade was quick enough to grab both his thighs and squeeze a silent warning. That’s when Peter noticed Wade had gloves on, as well as boots.

Wade was rarely ever _that_ covered.

So. Okay.

Yep.

They had company.

“So, Peter, is this the reason you’ve been avoiding hanging out with us?” Came Felicia’s unmistakable voice. Peter looked over his shoulder to see that, yeah, _all three_ of his friends were in his apartment, in his _kitchen_ , while he was practically naked and doing his best to crawl inside Wade’s hoodie. “You have a new boy toy and didn’t wanna share with the class?”

“Screw you, Leese, it’s not like that,” Peter said even as his heartbeat quickened.

His nerves prompted his Spidey Sense to start chanting _run, run, run_ , at the back of his head, because MJ’s eyebrows were raised all the way to her hairline, Ned was squinting at him like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and the satisfied smirk on Felicia’s plump pink lips was too all-knowing to be any kind of good news. Wade must’ve seen or felt Peter tense because suddenly he was laughing and plating the bacon and turned around to address Peter’s friends.

“You all know how clingy Petey is when he’s just woken up,” Wade said, though he couldn’t have known that none of them had ever seen Peter that unguarded, ever. (Wade just sort of…broke down all his defenses. Without even trying.) He appreciated the effort, though. “An’ anyway, breaky is almost done. So, you guys can eat this right here, and I’m just gonna—yeah.”

Wade beat a hasty retreat to their bedroom with Peter clinging to his back for dear life, deflated in embarrassment as he was, and trying not to let his panic spike any more than it already had. By the time Wade had finally unstuck Peter from his back and gently sat him on the edge of the bed, Peter was in full meltdown mode: hands in hair, tears in eyes, and nearly to the point of hyperventilation.

Wade knelt down between Peter’s spread thighs and boxed Peter’s hips with his arms, but didn’t touch him, like he’d done at ComicCon all those months ago.

“Pete-cute, breathe, okay? Just breathe for me, Baby Boy,” Wade said, catching Peter’s wide eyes with his own and winking at him in an achingly familiar way. “Can I touch you?”

Peter nodded and that was all the permission Wade needed to lean up and press his hand (at some point he’d taken off his glove) to Peter’s stomach.

“I want you to breathe out when I press down, okay Webs? Can you do that for me?”

Peter nodded again, took a breath, and breathed out when Wade pressed down on his diaphragm.

“Now breathe in,” Wade ordered as he lifted his hand a bit. Peter did as he was told and breathed out when Wade pressed down again. “Good. You’re doin’ great Baby Boy. Breathe in.”

It didn’t take long for Peter to calm down like that, surrounded by Wade’s voice and smell and the feeling of Wade’s shifting scars on his skin. When his breathing finally eased, Wade stood.

He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a shirt and jeans, tossing them at Peter who caught them easily. Peter gave him a weak smile in thanks as he tugged the clothes on.

Wade came back over to him, settled his hands on Peter’s shoulders, and asked, “you good now, Baby Boy?”

“M’good,” Peter answered. “Let’s go face the music.”

Felicia, Ned, and MJ were in a deep discussion when Wade and Peter walked back into the kitchen, but as soon as the three friends saw them, they instantly stopped talking.

“Well that wasn’t obvious at all,” Peter said as he pulled a chair out from the breakfast bar and sat down heavily. Wade slid a mug of coffee towards Peter as he turned back to the stove. Peter took a cautious sip. When it wasn’t poisoned with salt, Peter smiled and said, “thanks, Red.”

Finally, with coffee in his system and clothes on, he turned to his gathered friends.

“So…how have you all been?” Peter asked, bringing one of his knees up to his chest so he could sit sideways and talk to them but also have something to rest his warm mug on.

Ned laughed, and MJ raised an eyebrow.

Felicia just hopped up onto the breakfast bar as if she had no better place to be.

“Really, Parker? You’re gonna lead with that?” MJ asked as she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed.

“Uh…yeah, sure. Why not?” Peter said, sipping his coffee.

He was not ready for a full-blown explanation for why his friends stood in the same room as Deadpool, especially since he’d barely had his first cup of coffee. And while logically he understood that two of those friends knew he was Spider-Man, and one of them was a villain in her own right, it still felt like the two worlds he tried to keep secret were colliding. He wasn’t fond of that feeling.

“We’re good, Peter,” Ned spoke up, pulling out the other chair.

He sat down just as Wade plated the first of the French toast and pushed the plate in front of Peter, along with the special Canadian syrup Peter had come to absolutely love. Seeing it made Peter smile, but when he looked up, MJ looked like she was about ready to burst.

Peter sighed and forwent trying the food he knew would taste heavenly.

“What do you wanna know?” Peter asked.

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck raised because Wade was being uncharacteristically silent. That was never a good sign.

“Well first, how about you explain how you met…this guy,” MJ said, as her hand motioned at Wade.

Suddenly Wade turned around and stuck out his hand to her.

“Wade Wilson, at your service. You may know me as Deadpool,” Wade said as he let out a laugh just this side of sane and his voice light the way it was before he self-destructed, “most people do.”

Ned, thank all things holy, just took Wade’s hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pool,” Ned said with a warm smile. Peter could’ve kissed Ned with the relief he could see in the lines of Wade’s tense shoulders ( _could’ve_ is the operative word here, because kissing Ned would just be gross. He was basically like a brother.)

“Wade,” Felicia said, inclining her head as she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Nice to see you. Again. I see you have all your body parts, today.”

“Wait, what?” MJ exclaimed. “You were missing body parts when you met?!”

Peter ignored MJ, preferring, instead, to glance between the two antiheroes. He noticed the way Wade smirked at Felicia and the way Felicia had a small smile of her own aimed at Wade’s legs, and said, “oh, come on! Really?!”

“I have a certain love for tight catsuits—well. Okay. True—it’s more like tight anything, especially _spandex_ ,” Wade defended himself, as he plated some more French toast and set it in the middle of the bar. “It’s not my fault you never thought to ask why I kept mentioning a certain fair-haired someone with a certain…web slinging other someone. Had the biggest cat-crush in the _history_ of cat-crushes, till my sweet assed Wallcrawler walked in and hero-ed her thunder.” Wade tilted his head, smacked himself in the face with the spatula, then hissed, “is _to_ a word, White. Shut your whore mouth. I wanna look sane for Petey’s friends.”

“I _did_ ask, you little shit, but you _ignored_ me!”

“Wait. Sane?” Ned asked, eyeing the way Wade held the spatula.

If Peter had been in his right mind, he would’ve noticed Wade’s tells long before the shit hit the fan. However, as it was, Peter stood and started to pace. He ran a nervous hand through his bed-mussed hair, his panic rising, because motherfucking _shit_. Felicia had known _exactly_ who he’d been crying over all those months ago when he’d drunk called Wade. She _had_ to know about his feelings for Wade by now.

“Will someone _please_ explain what’s going on?!” MJ shouted as she slammed her fist down on the table. “Or I swear to all that is good in this world, I will call aunt May and tell her you aren’t taking care of yourself, Parker.”

“Oh—kay, that’s our cue to _leave_ ,” Wade said.

“No, Wade, wait—”

Peter, who’d finally noticed the tenseness of Wade’s shoulders, the forced cheer in his tone, the way his hands twitched towards the knives they kept in the block next to the toaster, and registered the slap Wade had given to himself, tried to stop him, but Wade side-stepped him, scooped up his keys, and walked out of the apartment.

The apartment fell into absolute silence for several seconds until Ned said, “I feel like something big just happened.”

“ _Dammit_!” Peter kicked his chair angrily. He didn’t hold back any of his strength, and the wood shattered into tiny splinters.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Felicia deadpanned.

Peter rounded on her, his eyes flashing with barely restrained rage.

“If _you_ hadn’t—”

“Take a fuckin’ breath and tell us what the fuck just happened,” MJ commanded as she munched on a piece of bacon. “I’m thoroughly done with your bullshit, Parker. We’re your best friends. Treat us accordingly, you utter prick.”

Peter’s anger deflated. He nodded and sat against the wall with a sigh.

“It all started when I was an intern at Oscorp—”

“We don’t want your origin story, we all know who you are,” MJ announced as she cut up one of the pieces of French toast with her fork and took a bite.

“You…what?”

“I’m not stupid, Parker. And your lame ass excuses could only fool a blind toddler,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes. “As I’m neither, I’ve known you were Spider-Man since the second month of becoming friends with you. Skip to the part about you being obviously in love with that guy who just left.”

“I…yeah, okay,” he said because really, he was kind of a terrible liar and he didn’t have the energy to argue with MJ. “So, here’s the thing, do you all know who Deadpool is?”

Felicia smirked.

MJ nodded.

“Sort of,” Ned answered. “He kills people for money, right?”

“Not anymore,” Peter replied. “But, sure. Basically. Anyway, I’ve known him for…I think for almost five years. And um, long story short, I sort of, kinda, _maybe_ have a thing for him—stop smirking Leese—and I never really said anything because he was basically a murderer. But then he stopped killing and we became really good friends. Then shit happened—”

“—you overreacted, is what happened,” Felicia said picking at her nails.

“—and we sort of…maybe stopped talking? It _felt_ like a bad break-up,” Peter said, ignoring Felicia. “But then we reunited, I asked him to move in with me, and I just…I realized I _wanted_ him. So, I’ve been trying to persuade him to, you know, date me—”

“—you mean have sex with you, judging by what you were trying to do before Leese interrupted,” MJ corrected, “but please do continue.”

“Anyway, the _problem_ is, he never acts on any of it,” Peter finished with a sigh. “I’ve thrown myself at him several times and I just get…nothing. I think he may not want me like that.”

“Pete…I think that’s where you’re wrong,” Ned said, his voice soft. “He seems to be pretty into you.”

“How would you know?”

“Because we have _eyes_ , stupid. He’s the one that’s been taking care of you. And he also called us over, so we could all hang out since it’s your first day off in forever,” Felicia informed him, tearing off a piece of French toast and popping it into her mouth.

“So, why were you so upset when he left, anyway?” MJ asked, ever the one to keep the conversation alive.

“Wade is kinda…messed up in the head,” Peter said, rubbing his temples and trying to stay focused on the conversation, rather than think of all the horrible things Wade could be doing. “He hears voices, and sometimes they tell him to hurt himself, especially when he’s upset. Which, I assume, is what he’s doing right now.”

“Then what the hell are you doin’ still talking to _us_ , for?” MJ shrieked, the look on her face one of horror. “Go fuckin’ stop him, you complete _idiot_.”

Peter didn’t have to be told twice.

He grabbed his keys and phone off the counter, shoved his feet through the first pair of shoes he saw, which happened to be Wade’s oversized Deadpool boots, and ran out the door.

It took him several hours of street wondering, texting Daredevil, Johnny, and Logan for updates, and failing to find Wade at his old apartment before inspiration struck. He hailed a cab and soon found himself in the worst neighborhood he’d ever been in, standing before a grungy door with a sign that dubbed the dilapidated looking building as the Hell House, formerly known as Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Girls.

Peter pushed the door open.

The smell of stale beer, sweat, and blood and the sounds of balls breaking at pool tables, gruff shouts of angry patrons, and fists hitting flesh, immediately assaulted Peter’s senses. He turned a corner in the small, dimly lit hallway and came face to face with a burly man being thrown in his general direction. Peter had just enough time to listen to his Spidey Sense when it shouted **_MOVE!_** at him. He sidestepped the body thrown his way and the man crashed into the wall with a sickening crunch.

A rumpled, unkempt man wearing a stained flannel shirt and glasses came out from behind the bar with a world-weary sigh. He held a mirror fragment up to the crumpled body’s nose.

When no condensation formed on the glass he stood and said to the now eerily quiet room, “he’s dead.”

There were a few cheers, but most of the room groaned with irritation.

The greasy bartender just frowned, looked at Peter, and said, “I never fuckin’ win. Anyway, if you’re lookin’ for Lucky, he’s in the back booth. He’s been lookin’ for a sweet thing like you to put on display.”

“I’m not a prostitute,” Peter retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. It dawned on him that he was wearing a rather threadbare shirt he’d had since middle school (so not only did it have holes all over, it was also tight as hell) and a pair of skinny jeans.

“Hey man. No judgment here,” the guy said in a lazy drawl.

“I’m lookin’ for someone,” Peter stated, following the man as he made his way back behind the bar.

“Ain’t we all, kid. Info’s got a price, though,” the man said as he slapped a fingerprint smudged shot glass on the bar top and poured whiskey in it, which he then offered to Peter, “you willin’ t’pay?”

Peter nodded, knocked the liquor back, and asked, “you know where I can find Wade Wilson?”

The bartender laughed. It was a nasally, ugly kind of laugh.

“Hate t’break it t’ya, but he ain’t in the killin’ biz, anymore,” the bartender said, his beady eyes narrowed behind his duct-taped glasses. “So, what’s he to ya?”

Peter eyed the bartender for a moment, letting a small, dangerous smile slide over his lips as he replied, “it’s none of your Goddamned business, Weasel. I fuckin’ know he’s here. So, tell just tell me what I wanna fuckin’ know.”

Peter tossed a wad of twenties next to his empty shot glass, knowing from the stories Wade had told him about the man, that Weasel would take the cash. Peter didn’t like acting like the criminals he spent most nights putting behind bars, but Wade had told him about how heartless the people in this shithole pub could be, and Peter just wanted to find the ex-merc and go home.

Weasel picked up the money, stuffed it into his back pocket and tilted his head to indicate a door behind the bar.

“He’s in the last room on the left. I hope to God you know who you’re dealin’ with, kid.”

Peter flipped Weasel off.

“I’m not a fuckin’ kid.”

Then he hopped over the top of the bar and walked through the doorway without a second glance at the bartender. He easily found the door Weasel had described and, without knocking, shoved the door open, using his strength to bust the lock.

He was greeted with the sight of a mask-less Wade, sitting on a puke green couch, hood pulled high over his head to try and cover his face, holding Bonnie and Clyde towards Peter’s head.

“You shouldn’t be here, Pete,” Wade said, his voice rough and his scarred lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away trying to hide his face in the shadows cast by the cowl of his hood. However, his efforts were useless as he seemed to have found the only well-lit room in the building.

And then it hit Peter like a pumpkin bomb to the face.

Wade’s mask. Was _off_.

Peter took in the strong jaw, the straight nose, the deep brow line, the ever-shifting pockmarked skin, and bald head. Wade’s eyes were the color of an old, walnut barn door. Flecks of deep brown were marred with lighter hues, like the last rays of a setting sun shining through a glass of whiskey. So much strength remained despite the years of weathering, so much life.

He was finally, _finally_ seeing _Wade_.

“You have brown eyes,” was the first thing out of Peter’s mouth when he could finally form enough words to speak.

“Yeah. Had ‘em since I was born,” Wade said, the corners of his lips lifting in a small smile. Then he tilted his head and scowled at whatever one of the boxes said. He squeezed the sides of his head, his hands still holding the loaded pistols, and let out a tormented, frustrated sound. “Yellow’s right, you’re probably more freaked out from seeing our face than when you were at the apartment. I fuckin’ _knew_ I shoulda—but I told you I’d _try not to_ —but then White said—”

“Hey, Red. It’s okay,” Peter said softly.

He kicked the door shut with his foot as he walked into the small room, realizing it was some sort of office, but not caring. He only had eyes for the man in the Spider-Man hoodie that had stolen his heart from the very first moment they’d met. Without hesitating, Peter straddled Wade’s lap, gently tugging the pistols from Wade’s hands, and setting them as far away as he could lean without toppling off Wade’s lap. Then he lifted his hands up to cup Wade’s cheeks, his thumbs rubbing at the delicate, rough skin under Wade’s closed eyes.

“You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re _okay_ , Wade,” Peter soothed, “and what did I say about the boxes being assholes?”

“You said not to listen to them,” Wade choked out, his hands releasing his head as he gripped Peter’s wrists hard enough to bruise. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“What _else_ did I say, Red?”

“That I should trust what you say over them, cus you’re less crazy than us.”

“That’s right,” Peter said, his voice stronger than he felt. “So, tell me why you left.”

“They said—I shouldn’t—I’m a _monster_ , Petey,” Wade whispered, his eyes squeezed shut. “Why do you—what do you even _see_ in me?”

“I see a man who’s done nothing but try and be the hero I _know_ he can be,” Peter answered, pressing their foreheads together, putting all of the feelings he felt for Wade (vexation, love, everything) into a warm, easy grin. “I see a man who lets me be a fuckin’ asshole this whole time, use his kinks against him just because I can, and yet he _still_ takes care of me. I see a man who cares what people think but is himself no matter what. I see the man I’m hopelessly in love with.”

Wade looked up at that, his brown eyes red from unshed tears, full of pain and rising hope.

“I _told_ them. I _said_ you were givin’ me atomic bomb type signals, but they just—”

“Then lemme prove ‘em wrong,” Peter murmured as he slowly, millimeter by millimeter, pressed against Wade until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart and Peter’s whiskey soured breath mixed with Wade’s. “Tell me to stop, Red. Tell me to stop and I will.”

Wade was frozen in both fear and dawning realization, but he had the good sense to shakily say, “don’t. Don’t stop.”

Peter lips slotted against Wade’s then. Not innocently (but then again, neither one of them were innocent), it was more like a tease, but hot and fiery and _demanding_. It was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.

Peter meant to pull away before he lost himself to the feeling of his tongue sliding over scarred, but surprisingly soft lips, but then Wade parted his mouth and Peter was gone. His senses were seduced by the musky taste of Wade’s hot mouth, the minty smell of Wade’s cologne, the feel of Wade’s rough, gun calloused hands sliding down Peter’s wrists to his waist.

Peter shifted in Wade’s lap, pressing up _into_ him. His hands moved to cradle Wade’s head, at the base of his neck, as he tilted it up for more, and deeper, and _yes, finally_.

One kiss turned into three and three kisses turned into ten.

The world fell away. There was nothing but the shudder of Wade’s breath, the slick feel of his exploring, _plundering_ tongue as Peter pulled it into his own mouth, the deliciously deep moan Wade made (that Peter could feel in his chest, _fuck yes_ ) when he bit Wade’s bottom lip and _tugged_.

He couldn’t think straight.

His only desire was to touch, and feel, and mark, _mine_. He had no wish for the kisses to end, drunk on endorphins as he was.

But eventually his lungs screamed for air and he had to pull away, so they could both drag much-needed oxygen into their lungs.

“That clear it up, Wade?” Peter panted, his arms sliding around Wade’s neck. “I want you. I wanna kiss you, and I wanna date you, and I wanna fuck you. Or you fuck me. I’m not picky.”

“I want that too Petey-pie, so fuckin’ much,” Wade answered, bending to press his lips to Peter’s throat in a butterfly kiss. “I’ve wanted that from day one.”

“Good, then you better be prepared to woo me. Remember, three dates, Big Red.”

Wade laughed, and the sound made warmth blossom in Peter’s chest. He knew they’d be okay.

“I think I can do that, Baby Boy,” Wade said.

“By the way, we need a new chair. I kinda…broke the one I was sitting on,” Peter said as he tugged Wade’s hood off and caressed the man’s bald head. To Wade’s credit, he only flinched a little.

“I know a guy,” Wade commented as he leaned away from Peter, so they could lock eyes. “You ready to head home?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, though he made no move to get up. “What happened to your mask?”

“Weasel bet me a few thousand that I was too chicken shit to take it off and leave it off for a whole night,” Wade said, his smirk devious. “He failed to mention whether or not I could lock myself in his office.”

“Then how would he know—”

“Cameras.”

“Hmm,” Peter scratched his chin as he looked into the corners of the room and finally noticed the cameras. “How willing are you to threaten your friend into handing over the footage of our first kiss?”

Wade’s eyebrows rose, and Peter giggled.

“Why Petey-pie, are you a voyeur?”

“No, doofus, I used my super strength,” Peter said, but couldn’t stop the blush that flooded his cheeks.

“Sure, that’s what they _all_ say. But yeah, I’ll get the tape.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, his voice suddenly very serious. “Thanks for trusting me with your face, Red. It means a lot.”

“I’d say anytime, but we both know that’s a lie,” Wade said, his lips in full grin mode. Peter couldn’t help but drink in the way Wade’s eyes lit up, so warm and open when he grinned like that. He ran his thumbs over Wade’s lips almost as if he could burn the shape of them into his mind.

“Shame, that,” Peter said with a grin of his own. “I’d like to be able to look into your pretty eyes every now and again.”

Wade snorted out a laugh and stood with Peter clinging to his chest.

“’Least you know I really am full of shit,” Wade said, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to Peter’s lips. Oh. Yeah. _They could do that now_.

“I definitely already knew that Wilson,” Peter replied with a smirk. “Take me home Daddy.”

“As you wish, Baby Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long guys. It's kinda a monster and took on a life of its own, so I had to tame it back down. Let me know if you guys thought the build-up and ultimate breakdown was worth it. Also, this was posted at like three in the morning, no editing. So sorry if there's a lot of grammar issues.


	3. Step Three: Possessively Defend his Honor

As they walked out of Weasel's office, Peter slid off Wade’s chest and on to the ground. He didn’t want to cause a scene that would have people staring at Wade’s face more than usual—he knew that Wade didn’t need that added stress on top of the day they’d just had. He did, however, take Wade’s scarred hand in his own and held onto it with as much strength as he could realistically get away with, without breaking Wade’s hand.

As they emerged out of the hallway and back into the main part of the dive bar, Wade took a moment to pull his hood over his head to try and hide as much as he could from the errant glances of the criminal patrons in the bar. Peter could see the small smile pulling up the corner of Wade’s mouth, once they’d moved back to the patron side of the bar, and the warmth he saw dancing in those brown eyes was worth Wade’s momentary discomfort.

Weasel gave them a loud whistle, his eye narrowing at the sight of their intertwined fingers. The sound pulled Peter from gazing into Wade’s eyes like a lovesick fool.

“Well slap my ass and call me a catholic schoolgirl,” Weasel said as he wiped a stained rag against an even more stained pint glass, ever the grungy bartender cliché. “Guess you _did_ know what you were doin’, kid. Gotta say, though, there’s no accountin’ for taste. Pretty guy like you could do better than a peperoni, flatbread face like Wade.”

In that moment Peter wished he was the kind of guy that could just punch people in the face for slights like that (Wade at least deserved a friend that didn’t comment about his face, but Peter was starting to realize that Weasel was just as crude, offensive, and altogether dickish as Wade could be) but he wasn’t allowed to be that kind of guy—couldn’t because there was too much danger of him forgetting to pull his punches. However, he couldn’t resist flipping Weasel off as he pulled out a stool and sat down. They still needed the tape that contained the footage of Peter using his super strength to break the office’s lock. Plus, Peter was going to make it his mission to take the Deadpool mask back from the greasy bartender, since he now saw that it was stuffed in Weasel’s back pocket.

“You always save the best pillow talk for me, Wease,” Wade responded, his tone light and sickly sweet—the undercurrent of danger was still present.

He slid his arms around Peter’s neck and pressed his chest into Peter’s back, simultaneously leveling a hard glare at Weasel and hiding Peter from the hungry gazes of the three guys who sat at the end of the bar pointing and muttering about Peter.

“Fuck you, you beady-eyed ass-muncher,” Peter also said to the guiltless bartender, as Weasel set down the pint glass to rub the dirty rag against the bar top, his body language completely casual and nonchalant. “I happen to love peperoni flatbread, you dick.”

“Look at that,” Weasel said, his bearded face even uglier when he smirked, “your baby boytoy is defendin’ your honor, Wadey. Isn’t that, like, your aesthetic or kink or some shit?”

“You’re gonna wanna shut up now, Wease,” Wade replied, his deep voice low in warning.

Peter perked up at this bit of information from Wade’s problematic best friend.

Wade noticed and his grip on Peter’s shoulders tightened (Since when was his chin hooked over Peter’s shoulder like that? His lips were so kissably close.) but Peter was undeterred as he said, “no, let him finish, Red. I’d love to hear more.”

However, before Weasel could answer, one of the three men at the end of the bar got off his stool and made the decision to lumber over to them, a nasty smirk on his fat face.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” the beefy biker asked, leaning against the bar and staring Peter down. His blue eyes glittered with the promise of violence in a way that made the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand up and caused his Spidey Sense to scream _danger_. “You wanna see how a real man can make ya feel?”

“Back off, uglier version of Joe Manganiello.” Wade’s voice dropped an octave in…was that jealousy? 

Peter snorted.

“I already have a real man, dude. That’s why I’m with the hot stuff plastered to my back,” Peter replied.

He kissed Wade’s cheek and kept his eyes locked on the overweight, greasy haired stranger. Textured scars shifted under his lips as Wade’s jaw clenched.

“How’s about,” the biker huffed; the stale stench of beer on his hot breath, brushed over Peter’s face as the man leaned forward and placed a hand on Peter’s knee, sliding it up towards Peter’s waist, “you ditch Scarface over there and come home with me?”

Peter shook the guy off his thigh, rolled his shoulders so that Wade’s arms dropped, and stood. His hands balled into fists as something hot and sharp boiled within him. His usual clingy playfulness was gone, leaving nothing but a cold, hard glare in its place (he was so fucking done with people insulting Wade right to their faces—he didn’t like the shuttered look Wade got, every time someone mentioned his scars). His lips pressed into a thin line and he pushed the biker away from him with one finger, trying hard to restrain himself from anything more.

The air in the bar seemed to drop ten degrees as all activity halted and everyone became silent, waiting to see what would happen to the new guy who obviously didn’t know not to mess with anyone Wade Wilson had chosen as a partner. The ex-merc was notorious for picking the most dangerous motherfuckers to bed, even Peter knew that.

Quietly, his voice devoid of any kindness and cutting like one of Wade’s sharp knives, Peter bit out, “I said _no_ , dude. Go away and sleep it off.”

The tipsy biker made the mistake of grabbing Peter’s bicep and yanking it hard so that Peter fell into the man’s soft chest.

“Listen here baby boy, I—”

Peter jerked his arm out of the stranger’s grasp and used his momentum to bring his left leg up between their bodies. Peter kicked the man to the bar top, easily pinning him there and knowing that the combat boots he’d borrowed from Wade’s Deadpool suit would leave a dark bruise. Peter pulled the sai from the sheath it always sat in on the inside of the combat boot and pressed it to the stranger’s double chin (it wasn’t enough to draw blood, but the danger was there all the same).

“Petey-pie, maybe—”

He ignored Wade and leaned in, so the biker could hear his next words carefully.

“I. Fuckin'. Said. **_No_**.” Peter put more force into his foot, and the bar groaned under the weight being pressed onto it. The man let out a frightened whimper and Peter eased his hold. He was supposed to be a hero, after all, and his intention was only to teach the man a lesson, not actually hurt him. “And I don’t take too kindly to you insulting my partner. Apologize, you drunk bag of dicks.”

“I’m, um…erm, I’m s-sorry,” the man said, his eyes wide and looking over Peter’s shoulder, presumedly at Wade.

Peter nodded and patted the man’s cheek with the hand that wasn’t currently holding a knife to his jugular.

“Looks like the dog _can_ learn.” His tone was condescending, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the guy’s flinch. “Now, the next time someone says ‘no’ to you, and you _don’t_ take that answer gracefully, remember that my boyfriend, the man you _insulted_ , is Deadpool.” The man’s whine of fear was heard by the whole bar, though only a few closest to the confrontation could hear Peter’s words. “Great, so you’ve heard of him. Well, thing is, he doesn’t like disgusting, rapist assholes that are smears on the human race, like you. So, I suggest you get woke, or Deadpool'll pay you a visit.”

Peter let the man go and sheathed the sai.

“And just so you know, only one person gets to call me Baby Boy, and it sure as hell isn’t _you_ ,” Peter said to the stranger who was still against the bar. Peter raised an eyebrow when the man didn’t leave and then realized the man was frozen in fear, having peed himself, judging by the dark stain forming at the front of his jeans.

“Oh ew,” Peter muttered with a grimace.

The rest of the pub stayed silent as he took his seat a few stools down, casually leaning his elbows against the top of the bar like nothing had happened. Wade slid up behind Peter and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling Peter into his warm side. He sat down on the stool next to Peter’s.

“Looks like he wore the wrong colored pants,” Wade said, which broke the tension and caused the entire bar to erupt into laughter. Everyone went back to whatever they were doing before Peter had lost his cool. The guy who Peter had threatened, settled his tab and beat a hasty retreat out of the bar.

“That was…so fucking _sexy_ , Pete,” Wade murmured, his breath hot against the shell of Peter’s ear, and his nose pressed into Peter’s soft hair. “Possessive is a good look on you, Webs. Even Whitey is a drooling mess right now.”

Peter laughed and playfully pushed at Wade’s shoulder but didn’t pull away when Wade just crowded closer. His body shivered involuntarily when Wade pressed a kiss behind his ear and then sucked his earlobe into his mouth.

“I protect what’s mine,” Peter replied, his voice just as hushed as Wade’s was, though now tinged with more heat (the good kind).

“So, I’m yours?” Wade tugged his earlobe with his teeth and Peter had a hard time remembering that moans in public were frowned upon.

“Yes.” Peter’s tone was so final, that Wade pulled back to look into his eyes, searching for a lie he wouldn’t fine. “You’re _mine_.”

A voice cleared in front of them and Peter suddenly realized that most of their conversation could be heard by Weasel.

Peter turned to look at said man, leveled his most charming smile at him, and said, “so, you were tellin’ me about Wade’s kinks.”

“Well you see,” Weasel started, without skipping a beat and fulfilling the role of embarrassing best friend, “Wade here has a thing for them dominant types. Gets ‘em all hot an’ bothered, as you can tell. But he likes it, even more, when his side pieces are possessive as hell, tell him what to do, and—”

“That’s enough of that,” Wade said, slapping his hand on the table. “I need the tape from your office.”

Weasel’s eyebrows rose, and Peter filed the new information away for later examination.

Weasel pushed some of his long hair behind his ear and asked, “what for?”

“Let’s just say, you won’t wanna sit on your couch for a while,” Wade answered vaguely, wiggling his nonexistent eyebrows suggestively. Peter smirked to add to the effect. “I’d liked t’watch  the tape, so I can relive what happened.”

“Damn, that’s both gross and arousin’, like Jared Leto,” Weasel said as he bent down behind the bar.

Peter leaned over the side to watch as Weasel opened what he’d originally assumed had just been a cabinet of liquor but was actually a full surveillance system. The screen of the small monitor flicked between the several cameras around the office, at the entrance, and at the exit of the mercenary hideout. Weasel fiddled with the electronics and, while he was distracted, Peter grabbed Wade’s mask from the bartender’s pocket. He made sure to use all the skill at pickpocketing that Harry had once taught him when they were both bored and procrastinating homework (Harry had told him he was a natural at the art, but Peter had been sure that was because he’d wanted to get into Peter’s pants).

When he had the soft mask in his hands, he turned to Wade and pulled it over Wade’s head. He stopped short of covering Wade’s mouth, however, and stole a small, closemouthed kiss (because, _fuck yes_ , he could do that now), which turned into several hot kisses when Wade’s tongue flicked against Peter’s lips. And then Peter was gone for a moment, once again lost to the expert way Wade licked into his mouth.

It took him several minutes to realize Weasel kept clearing his throat and calling Wade’s name. With a smirk, Peter ignored the bartender and moved his lips down Wade’s jaw to his exposed neck, biting down and then sucking the pockmarked skin into his mouth. He knew the hickey would be gone in only a few minutes, but he liked the way the already purpling bruise looked against the shiny pink and angry red of Wade’s scars.  

Wade let out a shaky breath as Peter pulled him in closer by his belt loops.

He moved his lips back up to Wade’s lips, then over to Wade’s ear and said, “take the tape so we can go home.”

Wade wasted no time in grabbing the tape from a grinning Weasel who’d taken his battered iPod out to take a picture of them. By the chime from Wade’s back pocket, Peter knew Weasel had sent the picture to Wade’s phone.  

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Wade said. Peter nodded, folding down the rest of Wade’s mask and tugging Wade out the door by the grip he still had on Wade’s beltloop.

Wade called them a cab, and Peter was surprised that it only took the cabbie a few minutes to show up.

The cabbie stuck his head out of his window, and in a slightly accented voice, asked, “you call for a cab, DP?”

“Dopinder! We’re headed to Astoria. Take thirty-first, please.” Wade opened the back door and climbed into the backseat, pulling Peter in with him. Peter allowed himself to be pulled into the cab and soon they were driving down the streets. He made himself comfortable sitting sideways on Wade’s lap when the older man didn’t seem inclined to scoot over. “How’s everything goin’ with Gita, my slender brown friend? Has she finally forgiven you for the thing with your cousin?”

Peter raised an eyebrow and turned to look up at Wade with skepticism but decided he really didn’t want to know the whole story. Besides, Wade’s neck was more inviting, and Peter found he couldn’t stop himself from sucking more kisses onto it.

“Oh yes,” Dopinder replied, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “She’s most pleased since I followed your advice on how to…erm, please her in the bedroom.”

At that, Peter let out a laugh.

“Really, Red?” Peter grazed his teeth over Wade’s Adam’s apple before saying, “only you would give your cab driver sex advice.”

“Not everyone has pure, unbridled sexual magnetism like me, Petey-pie,” Wade answered, but Peter heard the hitch in Wade’s breath and knew his careful attention to the taller man’s neck was getting to him.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Dopinder piped up from the front seat, which sent Peter into peels of laugher. “It’s good to see you with someone again, Poolboy.”

“Well, thanks, Dopinder,” Wade said as he carded his fingers through Peter’s hair when Peter leaned his head against Wade’s well-toned shoulder. “I got myself a keeper, right here.”

The conversation seemed to die after that, as Peter was content to curl up on Wade’s lap and close his eyes, listening to the steady beating of Wade’s heart. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep or that they’d made it to the apartment complex, until Wade shouted, “stop here!” and the cab lurched to a stop, tires squealing on asphalt.

Peter made to groggily hand Dopinder several crumpled bills, but the man waved him off with a warm smile, and said, “any partner of DP gets a ride for free.”

To which Wade then gave the cabbie several high-fives for the rhyme.

By the time they finally got through the door of their apartment and kicked their shoes off, Peter just wanted to curl up with Wade on the couch and take another, longer, nap, even though it only just turned four in the afternoon. He’d have to wait to do that though, because he needed to text MJ that he’d found Wade and they were alright. Peter also knew that he and Wade still had some things to work out before they could call it a day.

The apartment was empty when they entered it and Peter noticed that the food that had been on the bar when he left, was no longer there, which meant that his friends had put it away for him. He smiled at the care his friends had taken in cleaning up the apartment, because even the pile of wooden splinters had been swept up and placed in the trash. Peter had a feeling Ned had done most of the cleaning, while  MJ and Felicia supervised.

Just as Peter flopped down on the couch, pulling Wade with him, his stomach let out an ugly gurgle, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything in the past fourteen hours.

“I’ll make something,” Wade said as he stood and walked into the kitchen—at least he tried to, but Peter caught his hand and pulled him back down, crawling into his lap to make sure he stayed.

“I’d rather talk first,” Peter insisted.

Wade, however, was not willing to be deterred. He stood, Peter easily clinging to his chest, and walked them into the kitchen. He gently set Peter on the remaining chair at the breakfast bar and started to pull items out of the fridge. It was always stocked, now that Wade lived there and was able to make sure (to the point of obsession, in Peter’s opinion) that Peter was well fed.

“I’ll heat up some food while we talk.”

Peter sighed but acquiesced by curling his long limbs into the chair so that his knees were drawn up to his chest. He leaned his cheek against one knee as his eyes tracked Wade’s easy movements and laid-back demeanor. He smiled when Wade lifted the bottom of his mask to the bridge of his nose, so he could munch on a celery stick as he made food.

One of the things Peter loved most (he could say romantic shit like that now, squee!) about knowing this domestic!Wade, was that most people thought Wade didn’t eat healthy because of his unique love affair with all things Mexican. But the man just enjoyed _food_ , full stop. He ate pretty much anything (except pickles on his burgers, which Peter had found out the hard way, and would never forget) and he was an emotional eater too, which was a rare tick that told Peter about Wade’s mental state at any given moment.

Peter quietly watched as Wade began to hum and sway his hips to some pop song Peter wasn’t familiar with. Peter pulled out his phone and sent several messages to his friends letting them know him and Wade were okay and finally talked everything out. MJ and Felicia both replied with “good,” before he finally spoke.

“I guess the first thing we should talk about is what we are now.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, because it suddenly hit him how much emotional turmoil they’d both been through in only a few hours. It felt like it had been several days since his friends had found him basically dry humping Wade in their kitchen and Wade had stormed out and they’d finally told each other their feelings. But it had only been that morning.

Wade, for his part, only paused for a moment in his humming, before he put a plate of bacon into the microwave and began to fix BLTs for their lunch.

“I thought that was obvious, Baby Boy,” Wade said, as he pulled out one of his large bowie knives from a junk drawer and began to slice a plump tomato. “We’re together, dating, going out, courting—”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter reassured, eyeing the way Wade’s hand tightened on the handle of the knife. “I just wanted to be sure. Because I told you what I want, but you never really…made clear what _you_ wanted.”

“I want everything with you,” Wade said, placing the slices of tomatoes on the bread and then adding the lettuce—Peter only ate BLTs one way and, apparently, Wade had memorized the order in which he preferred them made (Wade always surprised him with the small things he remembered about Peter, especially when the man barely remembered anything else—repeated head trauma could be detrimental to memory like that). “I wannna take care of you, and cuddle you, and be your waifu. I want lazy Sundays in bed, kinky sex, trips to the park, and kisses on rooftops after we beat the shit outta criminals—well I don’t give a fuck if I sound like a tween diary, that’s what I want, asshole.”

Peter frowned at the one-sided conversation and reached out to slide his fingers over Wade’s.

“I love all those ideas, Red,” Peter said, squeezing Wade’s hand before letting go so the man could finish their food. “But I also want exclusivity. I’m not polyamorous.”

“Neither am I, Baby Boy,” Wade said, pulling the bacon out of the microwave after it beeped and placing some pieces onto the lettuce. “It’s just you, for me. ‘Sides, it’s not like people are linin’ up to get a piece of this butter face.”

“Hmm, good,” Peter murmured, ignoring Wade’s self-deprecating comment for something to be discussed later.

Wade finished the food and slid two sandwiches over, so Peter picked one up and took a bite. The sound he made when the food touched his taste buds was nearly pornographic, and not at all on purpose. He was just that hungry. He noticed Wade had paused halfway to lifting his own sandwich to his mouth.

Peter smirked at the effect he had on the man.

It took him no time to polish off the first sandwich. He slowly nibbled on the second as he asked, “do we want other people to know? Because, as you can see, I’m a bit…possessive, and I want people to know you’re taken.”

“No one would care, either way,” Wade said as he finished his own sandwich and opened the bag of nacho Doritos they’d just bought.

“Well _I_ care, Red,” Peter replied, wishing he was still curled around Wade so he could soothe the tense line of the older man’s shoulders. “And I want people to know that I’m proud to be with you.”

“If people know Spidey and Deadpool are dating, they’ll hate you even more,” Wade said as he shoved a fist full of Doritos into his mouth. He tilted his head and then said, “very true. The Bugle would be able to back up some of their claims—no, we _aren’t_ gonna do that. Because Spider-babe told us not to, idgit. Anyway, I don’t wanna ruin your street cred, Petey.”

“If you’re that worried about it, then we can keep it professional in the suits,” Peter said as Wade shoved another handful of chips in his mouth. “But can I at least tell my friends? And May?”

Wade paused in his act of stuffing his face and let out a loud groan which sprayed the counter, and Peter, in bits of Dorito. Peter grimaced and wiped the half-chewed mush off his cheek, just as Wade seemed to deflate. He banged his head on the table.

“Fuck me with Loki’s helmet horns and call me Cookie,” Wade said, dramatically throwing his arms above his head. “Your aunt is gonna fuckin’ kill us.” He then looked up and grinned, his teeth tinged a bit orange from the chips. “Hey, Spides, you wanna go on a spontaneous retreat to Mogadishu? It'd be more fun than what your aunt has in store.”

“Uh, no. It’s in the middle of a war, Red. And besides, May loves you.”

“She won’t after she knows I’m defiling her baby.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“First, you haven’t done anything to, or with, me yet,” Peter said, holding up a finger. “Second, how do you know it won’t be _me_ , defiling _you_?”

“Damn Baby Boy,” Wade said as he made a sound like a wounded animal. “You know just how to talk to me, don’t ya?”

“Good thing dirty talk is one of my main kinks, Daddy,” Peter intoned, keeping his demeanor as innocent as possible. Peter batted his eyelashes, hoping he looked sexy and not like he was suffering from a sudden seizure. Between one moment and the next, he had a lapful of Wade, so he was pretty sure it worked. 

“Better be careful with that, now that I have permission to touch,” Wade growled, his lips so close to Peter’s that they were sharing breaths.

“Better be careful of how you touch, ‘till the third date, Daddy,” Peter shot back, gently circling each of Wade’s wrists with his hands and pinning them to the small of Wade’s back. “Or I might just have to tie you up.”

“You have all my kinks figured out, don’t’cha?”

Wade leaned in to slot their mouths together and Peter could feel the shape of his smirk against his lips. He rolled his eyes, but kissed back, licking into Wade’s mouth and tasting the tang of Doritos on his tongue. It was slow and soft, and Peter realized that, even with all their playful banter and quiet moments, being able to kiss Wade like that just heightened the intimacy they’d already achieved. The chair groaned under their combined weight as Wade shifted to press closer to Peter.

A few moments later he pulled back, kissing the tip of Wade’s nose.

“So, is that a ‘yes’ to making Peter and Wade officially out?” Peter pressed, as the chair gave another squeak of protest. He stood, easily holding up Wade’s weight and walking them to the couch.

“Ugh, I was hoping you’d get distracted.”

“We don’t have to,” Peter said, as he laid down on the couch, settling Wade ontop of himself. He pulled Wade’s hoodie off, tossing it to the side, and kissed Wade’s clavicle when his shirt rode down. “We can keep it to ourselves. If that’s what you want, I don’t mind.”

“I just. Ugh, I um—maybe—shut the fuck up! I’m _trying_ to talk and—”

Peter rubbed his hands up and down Wade’s broad back.

“It’s okay, Red. I won’t push you anymore.”

“No, no. I just—just your close friends and May for now, yeah?”

“Yeah, dude. That’s perfectly okay,” Peter replied, tugging Wade down so they could snuggle. “I’d love that.”

They were quiet for several seconds, both of them basking in easy affection and the idea that they were together. Finally.

But then, because he was Wade and he couldn’t keep quiet for long, he said, “guess we don’t need to find a new apartment.”

Peter giggled and rubbed his cheek against Wade’s scarred cheek.

“Fuck that, we’re getting out of this shithole. I want space to ride a bike around, if I wanted. And you need a place to properly store your weapons, because the laundry room is getting too full. Plus, I want an office slash lab.”

“You got a lot of wants, there Pete-cute.”

“S’not the only wants I have,” Peter said, purposefully adding a sultry edge to his voice. He loved riling Wade up, because Wade always made the best noises when he did.

True to form Wade moaned and dropped his head to Peter’s chest.

“You play dirty, Spidey-babe.”

“Speaking of,” Peter said, pulling away so he could see Wade’s face and be serious. “I’m sorry for using your kinks against you. I know it’s rude and probably really problematic.”

“I woulda told ya to stop, if I really wanted,” Wade said, for once, just as serious. Then he grinned and said, “’sides, you know my safe word is bananas. And I haven't used it.”

Peter laughed and bumped their foreheads together, just as his eyelids started to sag. Suddenly, with all the important talk out of the way, he was overwhelmed with how tired he was.

“Thor’s majestic hair, it feels like it’s been three whole days instead of just one,” Peter yawned, leaning his head back against the armrest of the couch and pulling the afghan from the back. He wrapped it around them to battle the chill that had set up home in the apartment. “Oh, and thanks for not doin’ anything…drastic, Red. I’m really proud that you went to talk to Weasel, instead of bein’ on your own.”

“I promised I’d try to do better,” Wade said, nuzzling Peter’s chest.

One of Peter’s hands came up to rub the side of Wade’s head.

“Can I—?” Peter tugged at Wade’s mask. “I’d like to see your eyes before I fall asleep.”

“I’d prefer you not to,” Wade said, catching Peter’s hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s palm. “Maybe one day, Petey-pie.”

Peter nodded and pulled Wade back into the circle of his arms.

“Okay,” he murmured, already on the verge of sleep (he’d always been able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat), “but keep it up, ‘kay? Wanna kiss when I wake.”

“As you wish,” Wade said, his lips ticked up in a fond smile as he watched Peter’s long eyelashes flutter close.  

Several quiet minutes stretched into the evening and Wade was sure Peter had fallen asleep.

However, then Peter mumbled, “you’re quotin’ Princess Bride.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw. But, so's ya know, I have been for a long time,” Wade said, smoothing Peter’s hair back, the way he knew Peter loved. Peter pressed closer and kissed Wade’s hand on its second pass.

“M’good. Me too,” Peter sighed happily, cuddling closer to the warmth of his romantic partner and falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovelies! Sorry this one took so long to come, college is starting back up soon and it's got my anxiety, like, 10/10 bad. But hey, you guys get this kinda cute chapter--which I hope you all like. (P.s. It's kind of a filler chapter until I can write more interaction with Peter's friends, and plus, they needed to have "the talk" so they both know where they stood.)
> 
> Also, before I get any hate about Peter being OOC at the bar, let me just say that I'm running with the one story arch of him having been sexually abused as a kid, so he has problems with people not taking "no" as an answer. Plus, he really, really hates people insulting Wade's scars, because that most definitely isn't Wade's fault. And it's not like he actually hurt the dude at the bar--plus, everyone who goes there is associated with the criminal world, so guy probably had it coming. (BTW I just always see Peter as a badass, and he was so fed up with that day already.)
> 
> Also, also, for those who have issues with Wade liking Spidey's possessiveness: #sorrynotsorry. Wade is canonically submissive in a lot of things, so that's the Wade I'm writing. 
> 
> Drop me a line if you liked this chapter or just tell me your general thoughts on this chapter. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, so comments from you lovelies are, as always, appreciated.


	4. Step Four: Go on an Actual First Date and End it with a Striptease

The next few days were weird for everyone’s favorite spandex wearing, wisecracking duo as they settled into their new status of officially being together. Nothing had really changed, and that was the crux of the problem. Wade still did most of the cooking while Peter did most of the cleaning, they still ate meals together, still poked fun and pranked each other, still cuddled on the couch while they watched movies together, and still patrolled together. The only thing that had been added to their dynamic was the freedom to kiss and touch and openly express affection, a barrier that hadn’t really kept them from acting like a couple before they’d become official.

But there was a palpable shift between them. After they’d settled the argument of what to call each other (Wade loved to drop the word “boyfriend” every ten seconds and Peter thought it was more mature to call them “partners” to which Wade liked to say “yeah, partners in anti-crime”) it was suddenly like the new term for their relationship had put more weight on all their interactions, especially the small touches they’d become accustomed to sharing throughout their friendship.

Peter was, surprisingly, not the first to take advantage of the added bonus to their new dynamic, contrary to how his prior actions would have people believe. The level of Wade’s tactile-ness skyrocketed from barely a brush of fingertips to full on picking Peter up when he was just a minor inconvenience in whatever current path Wade was on, proceeding to carry Peter around until he was tired of it and yelled at Wade to put him down.

Now that he had an open invitation, Wade never went far without some part of his body touching Peter’s. Weather with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him into a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant, or a pinky curled over Peter’s while Peter studied and Wade watched T.V., or a knee pressed next to Peter’s while Peter was working and Wade was hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Peter loved every second of it, because it was a nice reminder that he wasn’t alone, plus Peter’s own need for constant physical contact was more than happy to put up with all the touching.

It was a month after the Big Talk (which Peter had started calling it in his head) when Peter finally decided enough was enough. He was determined to go on a date with Wade because, other than the heavy kissing and petting, his self-imposed three date rule still stood. He’d forbidden him and Wade from doing anything heavier than kissing and a bit of grinding until they’d gone out a few times as a couple. Which they used to do quite often. Until now, apparently. But when he’d come home from a rough night of superhero-ing (this week’s flavor of villain had taken the form of Hyrdo-Man who’d kidnapped a bunch of kids to draw Spider-Man out and one of the kids had drowned before he’d gotten there) to find Wade had cooked lasagna as an apology for missing their movie night (he’d been in Colorado on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission for the last three days) he’d fallen into Wade’s arms like that was where he belonged. It was then, with Wade smoothing a hand down his back while he kissed Peter’s tears away, his mask tickling Peter’s sensitive cheek, that Peter decided the wait was over.

“Wade?” Peter asked, sniffling as his tears slowed to a stop.

 “Yeah, Baby Boy?” Wade answered, kissing the top of Peter’s head.

He pulled away so he could look up at Wade, the white eyes of the Deadpool mask a barrier, keeping Peter’s watery gaze from locking with Wade’s. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten to the point where Wade was comfortable enough to take the mask off yet, even in the comfort of their own home.

“I wanna go out with you,” Peter said.

Wade paused, his mask twitching around his lips like Wade couldn’t quite settle on any one expression.

“Uh, I thought that’s what we _were_ doing, my cute golden nugget.”

Peter laughed, and even though it was watery it was still better than the sobbing he’d been doing several minutes prior. He loved the many different nicknames that Wade threw at him now that it was more acceptable, because the scarred man never used the same one twice, unless it was particularly salacious or one that Peter was particularly fond of. Peter’s favorites of the names, besides the standard Petey-pie and Baby Boy, were Bubble-Butt and Spider-Booty. On one memorable occasion, only a week prior, when Peter had a very serious error in judgment and went into a warehouse alone, only for it to be a trap, Deadpool had shouted at him, “what did I say, Spider-Man? I said, ‘don’t go into the suspiciously abandoned warehouse alone!” and later, when they were curled up in bed with Peter’s broken leg propped up, Wade had said, “you can be so dumb even though you’re so smart, Parker.” It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he hated when Wade used the full title of any of his names. Besides, it was more fun to see what Wade would come up with when he was in the mood.  

“No, idiot. I wanna go out, out. Like…on a date.”

“Oh Petey-pie, I thought you’d never ask,” Wade said, nuzzling his cheek against Peter’s. “Was waiting for you to decide when you’d had enough of the PG-13 stuff and wanted to go straight to the R stuff. Ha! _Straight_.”

Peter let out a huff and crossed his arms.

“Were you gonna let me in on that decision any time soon?”

“Nah, Spidey. Where’s the fun in that?”

Peter rolled his eyes just as his stomach let out a large gurgle.

“Well, how about we go to that Jazz club that just opened down the street? Dinner and a show isn’t something we’ve done before,” Peter suggested as he removed himself from the safety of Wade’s strong arms.

He pulled Wade over to the counter where the lasagna was cooling and pushed him into the chair that they’d finally gotten replaced. Peter then promptly sat sideways on Wade’s lap so they could eat their dinner while they talked.

After Wade had rolled the bottom of his mask up so he could take bites of the lasagna he finally answered, “sounds like a plan, honey bunches. How ‘bouts we go on Thursday, since it’s our day off? We can make a day of it. You can meet with Mr. Fantas-douche in the morning about your thesis, then we can do brunch at that hipster place you love with the green tea pancakes—which is a fuckin’ shame for the world of pancakes; it’s _unnatural_ to do that to fluffy goodness Spider-hottie, I’m telling ya, and Yellow and White agree, which you know they never do—but you love your artisanal shit, and it’s so damn hard to say no to you when you give me those Bambi eyes. Then we can head to that bookstore down eightieth where I can get more Capsicle comics and you can geek out over all the other books. We’ll end at the Jazz club!”

Peter smiled at the small rant, swaying into Wade’s personal space almost subconsciously, and kissed Wade’s chapped lips.

“I’d love that, Red,” Peter said as he leaned against his boyfriend’s broad, t-shirt covered chest and chowed down on the apology lasagna.

 

 

Because nothing ever went the way either of them planned (mostly because Wade’s chaotic energy made it impossible to stick to a plan and also because Parker Luck™ was a thing and it royally _sucked_ ) at the end of their date, Peter found himself giving Wade a drunken striptease in a seedy bar near Hells Kitchen, while MJ tossed money at him and Felecia recorded the whole thing as she laughed almost hysterically. 

Their first date had started off really well.

They’d taken a stroll through Central Park, stopping at one of Wade’s (and subsequently Peter’s) favorite coffee carts on their way to meet Reed Richards, so Peter could give him an update on his thesis research. Peter worked with many of the greatest minds in the world: Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, he’d even become good friends with Princess Shuri of Wakanda, but he hadn’t wanted his friendship with those people to influence his work. And while Spider-Man often teamed up with the Fantastic Four, none of them knew he who he was outside of the suit.

The meeting had been pleasant enough. Reed had given Peter’s research the green light and had given him a few tips on things that could be improved, while Wade spent the half-hour meeting weaving in and out the shops down the street, chatting away with the voices in his head and with the alarmed pedestrians who weren’t prepared to interact with the infamous ‘Merc with a Mouth.

When Peter finally left Dr. Richards, in order to track down his wayward boyfriend, it took him nearly ten minutes to find Wade, because the older man wouldn’t answer his phone. He found Wade in a tiny novelty shop called Of Creative Necessities and Whimsical Procrastinations. Wade sat cross-legged in the far corner of the store, petting what looked like a dirty street cat, while chatting animatedly with a woman in a white, boho style shirt that reached the hem of her short jean shorts.

Peter walked up to them as a small smile crept up the side of his mouth. Even with the cloth version of his Deadpool mask covering his face, the woman looked at ease as she passed Wade a small nursing bottle. Peter was glad that Wade seemed to have made a friend—one could never have too many and it always helped as ammunition when Wade was feeling low (Peter liked to remind Wade of all the people who cared about him during those times, because while it didn’t do much, it showed Wade that he’d come a long way from the ruthless killer he’d once been.)

When Wade looked up to see Peter approach, his face—mask—lit up.

“Heya, Petey!” Wade greeted as he gently worked a finger into the cat’s mouth so he could stuff the nipple of the bottle in it.

Now that Peter was closer, he could tell the cat was skinny, too skinny, had cuts all over with patches of fur missing, mud, caked with blood, matting its grey fur, and its eyes were nearly glued shut with snot and other grime.

“Hey, love,” Peter said. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I found this halfdead fleabag in the alley by the shop,” Wade said as he held the cat closer when it started to eat. “Yellow told me to put it out of its misery, but White told me our favorite spandexed Wallcrawler would help it, and I agreed, and we all felt sorry for it, so’s we decided to save it, help it eat, wash it up, ya know. But we went to, like, three different stores before Miss Milly here,” Wade paused to gesture to the woman who was now using a damp, soft looking washcloth to remove the grime on the cat, “said she’d help. So, I brought this lil guy in here and ‘lo an’ behold, Miss Milly actually takes in strays and gives ‘em to kids in need. She used to be a vet, so she knows what she’s doing. She said I could feed him while she cleaned him up. Look!”

Peter’s insides melted when Wade pulled the cat up his broad chest to give Peter a better look. The cat let out a low, protesting meow, but went back to purring when Wade gently continued to pet its head. Peter didn’t think the cat would last long, since it looked like it had maybe two hours of life left in it, but it warmed him somewhere deep in his heart to see Wade actively changing for the better.

“That’s really kind of you Wade,” Peter praised. He turned to Milly. “Thank you for helping him out and it’s cool, what you’re doing in general, giving kids animals and such.”

Milly looked up at Peter with bright green eyes and a smile that could light up a room. Peter had rarely met genuinely kind people in his life, but looking at the calm, enthusiastic way Milly held herself, he could see her generous soul shine through.

“Thanks! And it was no problem. I’ll always help any animals in need,” Milly said, as she scratched at the back of her head, where her blonde hair faded into an undercut. “Plus, your partner here kept me company since today’s been so slow.”

“Can I ask a question?” Peter asked as he knelt down by Wade, so he could pet the cat too.

“Shoot,” Milly said, dipping the rag into a bowl of warm water Peter just now saw, next to her leg.

“If the kids are in need, how do they take care of the animals?”

“Oh. I run a food bank, of sorts. Kids can bring their animals to feed them or play with them, I open up a rec area further back in the shop, or they can come and grab food for their pets. It’s not the best system, but it’s something. And we have so many strays around the city, that it’s better than kids coming across the dead animals on their way home from school.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense,” Peter said.

He was in the middle of reaching his hand out to pet the cat again when Wade spoke up.

“But don’t worry about this stray, my lil poopsie,” Wade said as Peter scrunched his face in detest for the new name, “I already told her that this lil guy was coming home with us.”

“You _what_?” Peter asked. He said the first thing that came to mind that could potentially stop this situation from happening. “Wade, we’re in the middle of looking for a new apartment.”

“Not to worry,” Milly piped up, scrubbing the rag down the cat’s dirty leg, “it’ll take a while for this guy to get well enough to move from here, anyway. I’ll take care of him until you guys find a place.”

“But…we can’t really—afford it,” Peter said, even though he realized that no, that wasn’t necessarily true. Not with their combined income.

“That’s what the food bank is for! I also offer litter. I can take care of all the toys too; we get donations from all over the burrow from people who get new things or who don’t want the clutter.” Milly’s face was so genuinely happy and at ease, that when Peter looked over to Wade, whose puppy eyes could rival an actual dog, he relented for fear of a team up against him.

“Fine, okay,” Peter said. “But Wade, this means we have to seriously start looking for a new place. There’s no room in our current home for a cat.”

“Can do, Light of my Life!” Wade agreed.

It took some prodding from Peter, a dismissal from Milly, and finally, Peter’s stomach rumbling in agitation for Wade to put the cat (that he’d dubbed “Shining Armor” after one of his favorite ponies from _My Little Pony_ ) down and take Peter to his favorite café to feed him.

It was after eating and in the middle of browsing the shelves of the bookstore that Wade wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and kissed the side of his head while he whispered, “thank you for accepting the cat into our lives.”

Peter kept himself from laughing loudly and instead said, “you make it sound like it’s a cult.”

“Don’t you know that being cat-parents is like being in a cult. The cat controls our lives now,” Wade said, his tone grave as if delivering bad news. Peter snorted and kept browsing the shelves, easily carrying Wade’s weight and moving down a few steps, when it seemed that Wade didn’t intend to release his shoulders anytime soon.

“It’s not like I don’t like cats. But we’re always pretty busy, and I don’t want to accidentally starve it while we’re out patrolling or going to work or something,” Peter murmured, as he picked up a book on astrophysics. He frowned when he realized he’d already read it, and moved a bit further down the aisle, dragging Wade behind him effortlessly.

“Well cats are pretty self-sufficient, so it’s probably the best animal for us to have,” Wade replied, nuzzling Peter’s neck like said cat looking for pets.

Peter grinned and ran a hand up and down the forearm Wade had around his chest.

“I think it’s cute that you want us to have a fur-baby,” Peter murmured. “And I think it’ll be nice. I’m just overthinking the whole thing, I guess.”

Wade brought his phone into Peter’s line of sight.

“I know you’re worried about space, but I’ve been lowkey lookin’ at places for us, ‘cus you’ve been real busy since crime picked up and Dr. Hulk put you in charge of Research and Development so he and Iron Dickwad can get it on or whatever the Science Bros do, and I think I found a place that’ll be a good match for us and Mr. Sprinkles,” Wade said, kissing Peter’s ear.

“I thought it was Shining Armor?”

“Cats have many names. Like Mr. Weenie,” Wade said.

“We are _not_ calling our cat Mr. Weenie.”

Wade laughed and kissed Peter on the cheek and said, “as you wish, Spider-booty.”

It was then that Peter realized that Wade had pulled up his mask enough to actually kiss him.

Peter turned in Wade’s arms to peck him on the lips before focusing on the phone in Wade’s hand. He didn’t want to put too much attention on the fact that Wade was finally loosening up. And he was suddenly overcome with so much love for the ex-merc who wanted to start a family with him in the form of getting a pet, who’d researched apartments likely when he was sleeping (because otherwise Peter was glued to Wade’s side and he’d never seen the taller man so much as Google apartments for rent), who was currently in the middle of a public place with his mask showing off his pockmarked face just so he could steal a few kisses. Peter had to reign in his expression, afraid that if he looked up with his heart in his eyes, Wade would surely make a joke and the moment would be ruined.

Peter scanned the page that Wade had pulled up on his phone. It was a ninth floor, two bedroom and one bathroom, with side windows that lead into a small hallway—good for a bedroom, a study/lab/small armory, easy access to a fire escape when coming home from a patrol, and high enough that no one would see them coming home from said patrols. The pictures showed off lovely grey walls, a relatively large kitchen and living room, a nice dining area, a washer and dryer that came with the place, as well as tall ceilings which were nice for Peter when he sleep-walked sometimes, so he wouldn’t bump his head on any of their positions while hanging from the ceiling. It was almost a thousand square feet, and it was for sale, not rent, which meant that they could stay there as long as they wanted. And it was only four grand. It seemed too good to be true.

Then Peter saw where it was located.

“This is in Harlem,” Peter said as he leaned his head against Wade’s broad chest. “That’s nearly an hour away from Aunt May.”

Wade nodded and slid his phone back in his pocket. “I know, but it was a good deal. We could always check it out and see if we like it. No harm, no foul.”

“Hmm, that’s true. Plus, it’s close to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark Industries,” Peter added.

“Why don’t we go take a look-see next week when we’re both off?”  

Peter nodded, kissed Wade’s chin, and then pulled away.

“C’mon. Let’s go see if they have any Cap comics that you don’t already own.”

They left the store several hours later with Spider-Man and Captain America plushies because Wade had, in fact, owned all the comics they had on the Avengers’ star-spangled leader.

By the time they went back to their apartment, changed, and made it to the Jazz club, Peter was nearly starving and was glad this particular club sold food as well as drinks. They got a nice corner booth, with a good view of the stage, close enough to the bar that they could order whatever they wanted and not wait too long. It was at that precise moment, as Peter slid into the booth, Wade coming up beside him so they could both face the stage, when their night took a drastic turn.

Felicia Hardy’s platinum blonde hair was easy to spot in the shifting blue and purple lights of the club. She was out on the dance floor, swaying to the rhythm of the drums and saxophone, clad in skintight leather pants and a loose white t-shirt which was rolled at the sleeves. It wasn’t a style that Peter would associate with her, but then he spotted MJ dancing near her, and he understood why. MJ was easy to find because of her constant scowl at anyone who so much as danced near Felicia, but also because she’d traded in her combat boots and leather jacket for a purple button-down dress and flats. She was gorgeous. It seemed like they’d traded each other’s style for the night.

“Oh no,” Peter said as Felicia took that moment to spin MJ around and was able to lock eyes with him. To Peter’s horror, an evil grin broke out across her face and she whispered to MJ who looked over at them with a raised eyebrow. Both women started making their way over.

“Hey, Blueberry Muffin, is that—” Wade started to ask.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, as he leaned his head against the table in front of him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his friends. It’s just that things had been awkward between them all after Wade had lost his cool and Peter had spent the whole day looking for him. Ned was pretty much back to normal; he and Peter had had a video game night where Wade had been invited and Ned had pestered him with every pop culture question under the sun until he was satisfied Wade was a good match for Peter. Felicia had taken a few weeks to adjust to the new dynamic, having never seen a situation where Peter was interesting outside of his Spider-Man suit; she’d taken him and Wade out to an Italian restaurant which turned into time at an arcade which turned into Peter and Wade arguing over what skittle they’d been if they were a candy—which is to say, she got to see a side of Peter that only Wade could bring out, which satisfied her curiosity. But with MJ it was…not like it had been. MJ finally told Peter that she’d known he was pinning after someone else the entire time they’d been together, however brief it might’ve been, and now that she knew it was for a dangerous assassin, she was a bit sore about the topic. She was also still pissed that Peter had been too caught up in his own domestic bliss to remember that he had friends. Peter had texted her several times in the past month, and she’d only responded in emoticons. So, needless to say, things were not good between them.

By the time Peter decided he’d rather spend the night with his entire Rouges Gallery instead of with dodging MJ’s glare, it was too late to make a run for it.

“Well, well, well,” Felicia nearly purred as she leaned against the side of the booth Peter and Wade weren’t sitting in, “look what the cat dragged in.”

Wade giggled at the joke and slapped a hand against his lap.

“What’re you fine ladies doin’ here?” Wade asked, eyeing Felicia’s outfit. “Ten outta ten love the gay sleeve rolls.”

“Thanks, ‘Pool. And we’re out on a date,” Felicia said, sliding an arm around MJ’s tense shoulders. “Michelle and I are testing out the whole dating thing. Seeing if we like the romance along with the sex.”

“Lease!” Peter and MJ shouted at the same time.

MJ covered her reddening face and Peter covered his ears.

When the friends had noticed what they’d done, they both looked away, twin looks of guilt and hurt crossing their faces.

“Whelp, it looks like we’re gonna be the ones to do the talkin’ tonight, Kitty Cat,” Wade said cheerfully, waving down the closest waitress.

Felicia nudged MJ into the booth, sliding in beside her but turning to face Wade.

“Looks like. How’s the merc business?”

“Oh, you know, bit of slicin’, bit of dicin’, bit of maimin’ ‘cus our unproblematic favorite Spider told us we couldn’t kill the guys who’re responsible for that dog-fightin' ring down in Floridia,” Wade replied. The waitress came over then. “I’d like scotch and my boyfriend here’ll take a long island iced tea.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow, taking in Peter’s young face and wide eyes.

“You got an ID, hon?” she asked Peter.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his driver’s license. He hated that he was twenty-one but still looked sixteen. At the look on his face, MJ thawed a little, enough to let out a huff of amusement that was almost a laugh.

The waitress scrutinized Peter’s ID before handing it back with a nod.

“And for you ladies?” she asked MJ and Felicia.

“I’d like three green apple Jell-O shots and a gin and tonic,” MJ said, already pulling her ID out of her wallet.

“Same for me,” Felicia said with a grin.

When the waitress walked away Wade asked Felicia, “how’s the thieving beeswax goin’ Cat Lady?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Felicia said with a smirk towards Peter, “a bit of burglary here, a bit of breaking and entering there. MJ made me promise to stick with stealing from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Been there,” Wade sighed as he hooked an ankle around Peter’s leg. “Antiheroes in love, amiright?”

Meanwhile, Peter asked MJ, “What’re you gonna do with three Jell-O shots?”

“Share them with you and Wade, of course,” MJ replied. “You got a problem with that?”

Peter shook his head and thanked all that was good in the world when the waitress came back with the pre-made shots. Peter downed those and then ordered tequila shots. And on it went, as if he and MJ had to drink each other under the table to prove they were still friends.

It’s really no surprise to anyone when Peter invited both women back to his and Wade’s apartment to partake in some Asgardian mead Thor had given Peter after realizing “the Young man of Spiders” could indeed hold his thousand-year-old aged alcohol relatively well, the one and only time Peter had outlasted Thor in a drinking match.

They were spread out across the living room, Peter’s head in Wade’s lap as he sipped his mead, Wade leaning against the couch playing with Peter’s hair with a fond smile, Felicia perched in one of the chairs at the kitchen’s small bar watching with increasing amusement, and MJ starfishing in the space between them, when the bet occurred.

“MJ— _hic_ —you can’t—can’t be mad at me forever,” Peter said, he was nearly too drunk to form whole sentences, but he needed her to know he was hurt by her cold shoulder.

“What’re’ya gon’ give me n’return Parker?” MJ asked, her head rolling to the side in order to look at the two Peter’s swimming before her.

“I—I don’t know. What’d’ya want?”

MJ lurched forward then, sitting up on her knees so she could lean into Peter’s face.

“I know! I bet you that you won’t go to a strip club an’ steal the pole from a stripper,” MJ said, cackling so hard at her own words that she fell over, gasping and holding her stomach for the effort.  

He really needed to stop making bets with MJ because he never won. But this was important to him and he was already filled with enough liquid courage that he didn’t care.

“Fine. If I do it, you have to like me again,” Peter said, using Wade like a jungle gym to hold himself steady.

“Yeah, okay,” MJ agreed.

 

 

The first stripper joint they went to, Peter stepped one foot on stage and was kicked out, thus beginning their strip joint hopping, much like a bar crawl except that they were already trashed and their partners were just trying their best to keep MJ and Peter out of the worse of it.

By their tenth strip club, they were close to Hells Kitchen, having had to go to increasingly seedier places where the owners didn’t really care as long as you bought booze and paid them to look the other way.

Peter chugged the last of his mead, picked what he knew to be one of Wade’s favorite songs, and walked out on stage having unbuttoned the top of his white dress shirt. The fly of his jeans hung open showing off the red and black Deadpool underwear he worse. His fluffy brown hair was tousled into disarray. He knew he looked like he’d just had a quickie in the bathroom, but, like in all things Peter did, if he was going to put on a show, it might as well be a good one.

When the first few piano chords started up, Peter strutted his way down the stage, his dark eyes fixed on Wade who sat front and center next to the pole Peter would be dancing on. He barely registered MJ and Felicia off to the side, as in his drunken state, he only had eyes for his especially sexy and large boyfriend. He spent the rest of the intro to “Ashes” by Céline Dion, rolling on the floor, showing off slow, controlled front flips and handstands that helped emphasize his ass. When the first chorus came on, he pulled himself up the pole, having an easy time maneuvering because of his extra strength and Spider-Man abilities. Slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt earned him several dollars tossed onto the stage by MJ, who was whistling and clapping a lot for someone who was supposed to be drunk. It was easy for Peter to contort himself into even more flattering poses because of how flexible he was, since he spent almost all of his nights basically doing yoga in the air. When he caught Wade’s gaze after coming up from splits he’d done on the pole, he was sure if Wade wasn’t wearing his mask, his gaze would burn. By the time the first chorus was done, Peter had shimmied his way out of his pants and his dress shirt fell open, hanging off his shoulders as he twirled himself around the pole. At the end of the song, Peter having just basically humped the pole in front of him, and now regretfully on his way to sobering, collected his clothes and hard-earned cash, then jumped down from the stage, his cheeks visibly red.

He walked up to Wade and sat on the stunned man’s lap, happy that he’d done a good job as evidenced by the hard length Peter could feel pushing up against the thin fabric of his underwear.

“Hey sexy,” Peter said as he stuffed his arms back into his now wrinkled dress shirt. “How’d I do?”

“Um,” Wade shook his head like he was just coming out of water. “I uh. We should get a pole for the apartment.”

Peter cocked his head to the side.

“Why?”

“So, you can put that show on every night, all night,” Wade replied, gripping Peter’s sides hard enough that he’d probably have a few bruises in the morning. “I busted a nut halfway through the song. Yellow wants you to know that we’ll kill anyone who ever gets to see you like that again.”

Peter shrugged.

“It’s good cardio and I don’t mind doing it,” he said as he leaned in to kiss Wade’s cheek, hating the cloth mask that kept his lips from brushing against Wade’s bumpy skin. “But I wish I could’ve seen your face. I bet you looked so sexy all dark and possessive and wanting.”

“Imma cum again if you don’t stop teasin' me,” Wade said, his voice low.

“Maybe that’s what I want, Daddy,” Peter giggled, grinding his ass down on Wade’s hard cock.

Wade sighed.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Pete-Cute.”

Peter smirked and pulled Wade’s mask up just enough for a hot, wet kiss before he slid off Wade and pulled his jeans back on.

“I gotta keep it interesting ‘till the main event, Red,” Peter said as he linked his fingers through Wade’s hand and pulled him up.

He stopped by MJ’s table, letting go of Wade’s hand.

“I danced and kept up my end of the bargain, so you have to return my texts now,” Peter said, pointing at MJ with narrowed eyes.

MJ let out a hearty laugh before pulling Peter in for a hug.

“I will, Tiger. Sorry I was being such a bitch this past month,” she said.

“It’s okay. Just. I don’t like it when we fight.”

“Neither do I.”

“Good. Now, where’s that girlfriend of yours—” Peter cut himself off as he spotted Felicia and Wade on the other side of the table, cooing over Felicia’s phone.

“Look at this, Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater! Pussy Cat got your dance on camera!” Wade said, waving him over.

“Lease I swear to _God_ if you don’t delete that video!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh-kay. Where to start. 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been an actual year since my last update. I tried to give you guys a relatively long chapter to make up for it, as I've planned the next several chapters and have started working on writing the smut we've all been waiting for. 
> 
> The problem with this chapter is that, because it's been a while, and because Into the Spider-Verse came out, my Peter has started to kinda resemble Peter B. Parker, which isn't really a bad thing. But I do want you guys to let me know if you see any drastic character differences in this chapter's Petey-pie so I can change it. 
> 
> Also, this chapter sort of rambles on because I was trying to get back into writing these characters. I'm really sorry if this wasn't what you were waiting for, but I promise more updates soon. 
> 
> On a side note, I FINALLY FINISHED MY UNDERGRAD! I can't believe I made it through 4 whole years. (I also can't believe I'm considering going back for a Master's, but that's beside the point.) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you lovelies enjoy. Drop me a line if you find something you want to comment on. More chapters to come in the coming weeks. I love you all and thank you so much for sticking with me.


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